Rarely Pure and Never Simple
by motleygrrrl
Summary: "Is stalking me some sort of compulsive need of yours or something?" Harry Potter won't stop following him—no matter where Draco goes, Potter is there, watching. And Draco knows what that means—Potter is clearly planning his death, despite what Blaise and Pansy think. But if it's not murder he's after, what could it be? And how could Draco use that information to his advantage?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just wanted to start this story off with a quick hello and several warnings! So hello :) Aaand now also some warnings! This story is rated P for Profanity and AL for Awkward Love. (It won't stay awkward for long, don't worry.) It has sneaky Slytherins, manipulative schemes, immature banter, teen homosexuality, blond virgins, first dates, involuntary sounds of a decidedly flamingo-like nature, and a sweet and awkward Harry Potter. There will be all kinds of language you were taught not to say as a child, as well as all kinds of smut your parents hoped you never knew existed as a child. But let's ignore all those forgotten lessons and past-parental hopes and get into this thing, friends!

And we start, as we rightly should, with an Oscar Wilde quote:

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."  
―_The Importance of Being Earnest_

Aaand now we may begin :)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"He's staring at me again!" Draco hissed, resisting the urge to slam his fist down on the table they were sat at. Madam Pince would most likely gut him if he dared injure her precious books, and Draco could think of much better things he would prefer to be doing rather than dripping entrails all over the floor of the library; he preferred his entrails where they were, thank you very much. His guts were far too good for the library floor.

"He's not staring at you, Draco, let it go," Pansy said, rolling her eyes without ever once actually glancing in Potter's direction to check if he really was staring at Draco or not.

"Yes, he is!" Draco insisted, feeling Potter's gaze on his skin without even having to look over. "I'm telling you, he stares! All he fucking does is stare! Constantly! All the time! I think he's planning on murdering me!"

At the dramatic statement, Pansy rolled her eyes again and Draco considered flicking ink on her, ultimately deciding not to risk it just in case it landed on a library book and Madam Pince really did crucify him right there in the library as an example to all other would-be book-defilers, all of whom were worse than the Dark Lord in her eyes.

_I wonder if she's ever wanked over any of the books,_ he wondered idly, dismissing the disturbing thought in the very next second and wondering what sort of fucked-up war trauma he was repressing that had possessed him to think such an awful thought. If he was thinking such horrendous things, it was probably already long past time to seek professional help.

"He's not going to kill you, Draco," Pansy drawled, sounding far too indifferent to Draco's impending doom. "It's Potter, he's far too boring and noble to ever be interesting enough to be actively planning another student's death. If any deaths ever result at his hands, it'll be from sheer clumsy stupidity, not premeditation."

"He could be planning my death, you don't know," Draco huffed, slinking down in his seat. Why did Pansy just dismiss the thought that Draco was worth thinking and obsessing about to the point that somebody could literally spend _all _their time staring at him and plotting his death? Draco was more than capable of inspiring such intense obsession in a person—he was obviously talented like that, even if the world refused to admit that inspiring fanatical hatred throughout a nation could be just as impressive as inspiring fanatical love; they were both fanatical forms of obsession, after all.

"Look at him!" Draco demanded, glancing over to the brunet to prove to Pansy once and for all that he was right and she could suck it, only to find that Potter was no longer looking over, having buried his face in his notes what must have been only seconds earlier.

Looking over, Pansy turned back to him with another heavy eye roll. "Like I told you, Draco, he is not looking at you. Besides, how do you know he's not looking at _me?_ He could just as easily be plotting _my _death, you know."

"He is not plotting your death, Pansy, he's plotting mine!" Draco ground out, not sure why they were arguing over such a strange thing as which of them got to be murdered by Harry Potter. "He's already tried to kill me once in that bathroom and he's now plotting a way to finish the job!"

"I was the one who tried to turn him over to You-Know-Who!" Pansy said staunchly, apparently refusing to accept the truth that Potter obviously never thought about her as much as he thought about Draco, even if those thoughts were all murderous ones. "Stop dismissing that it might be _me_ he's plotting to kill!"

"Oh please, that happened once and you gave up far too easily," Draco rolled his eyes. "And it's not like you tried to physically drag him to the Dark Lord yourself; all you did was point at him and get shunned by three-quarters of the entire school for it. _I _actually did try to physically drag him there. Clearly, he's planning on killing _me_."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, sitting up more fully to glare at the blond, "he spoke out in favor of you at your trial! Why would he do that and then seek revenge? He's never once spoken up in _my _favor! _Obviously_ I am the one he would rather see dead!"

"You didn't even have a trial, when would he have ever needed to publicly speak up for you?" Draco asked her, shaking his head in pity at Pansy's sad delusions, most likely the result of serious trauma. Poor girl. "And clearly, the only reason he spoke up for me at my trial was so he could keep me from Azkaban in order to kill me himself. You can't kill someone unless you have access to them first, you know."

"Well, you did nearly kill his best friend that one time," Pansy allowed, looking thoughtful, and Draco nodded in agreement. "And that was on Weasley's birthday, too, so extra points for that, I s'pose. And you also nearly killed one of his teammates with that necklace. _And _the whole mess with the Vanishing Cabinet and letting Greyback in the castle and indirectly getting the older Weasley mauled by him. And that whole business of Potter being dragged to your house during the war by a bunch of Snatchers and nearly being killed there…_and—"_

"You made fun of him once for fainting on the train from the Dementors!" Draco interrupted, no longer liking how many reasons there actually were for Potter to want to see him dead.

Pansy gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah, _once_. And all I did was make stupid ghost noises at him; noises that he _ignored_, mind you. _You_ convinced Crabbe and Goyle to dress up in black cloaks and try to literally frighten him off his bloody broomstick during a Quidditch game! Obviously _you're _the one he wants to kill!"

Draco glared. "You once compared Granger to a chipmunk and called her ugly in an interview you did with Rita Skeeter in a goddamn issue of _Witch Weekly_!"

Pansy glared right back. "_You_ called her a long-molared Mudblood right to her face that very same year!"

"_You_ were the one conducting _Weasley is Our King_ at every single Gryffindor game!"

"_You _were the one who wrote the fucking song!"

"You helped with the badges!"

"But you came up with the idea for the badges!"

"You made up lies about Hagrid in front of Potter right to Umbridge's face just to get him fired!"

"You tried to get his hippogriff executed when you were thirteen by faking an injury!"

"You always laughed the loudest at all of my impersonations of Granger in class and my jokes about Weasley's family!"

The incredulous look on Pansy's face deepened. "_You _were the one who made all the stupid jokes and the impersonations in the first place!"

Draco crossed his arms, refusing to be defeated. "You called Potter ugly on his date with Chang and specifically brought up Diggory right in front of both of them even though everyone knew what a basket case she still was over him!"

"You once deducted points from Gryffindor and then told Potter it was because you didn't like him! And then took another ten points from Granger for being a Mudblood!"

"You were the one who told the entire school about Potter nearly killing me in the bathroom and started telling everyone how dangerous and deranged he was and demanding that he be locked up in Azkaban!"

"You're the one who insulted his mother so badly after a Quidditch game that he tried his hardest to beat you to death in front of about a hundred witnesses!"

"Ha!" Draco exclaimed, forgetting the danger for his life from the librarian and slamming his fist down on the book before him. "So you admit it! _I'm _the one he most wants to see dead! He's already tried twice!"

Pansy fell silent, giving him a look that Draco could only describe as judgmental pity. "Is it time to visit Pomfrey again, do you think, Draco?" she asked kindly, placing her hand over his in a sympathetic gesture, one he glared at.

"You're the damaged one, not me," he muttered, yanking his hand back and crossing his arms with a huff.

"Hmm, am I though, out of the two of us?" she wondered, giving him a _look_. "You just sat here for five straight minutes arguing about how you would be the better one to murder."

"Yeah, arguing with _you! _You were arguing about it too!" he reminded her hotly. "Besides, I won that argument. So…you know, there."

Snorting, she shook her head at him in amusement. "If nothing else, Draco, I will always have you to entertain me."

"Yeah," he lifted one eyebrow at her with a flat stare, "unless Potter _murders me_ in the next week!"

"Well, then," she shrugged, "I'll try to enjoy your company as much as I can for the next week."

"See if I ever let you suck me off ever again," he grouched, sinking even lower in his seat.

"Oh, please," she snorted again, shaking her head. "First of all, what the hell kind of bloke actually turns down a blowjob when one is offered? And second, that happened _once_. In _fifth year_. I know that it was the best head you've ever and will ever have in your life, but it's time to let it go already, darling. I think it's about time you move on from me, for both our sakes."

"Well," Draco sniffed, "the next time you find you can't fight your overwhelming attraction for me and it _does_ end up happening, I'm not returning the favor! So, there!"

"You didn't the last time either," she said dryly, shaking her head.

"Did I not?" Draco's nose scrunched up in confusion as he thought back, not technically _needing_ to think back since he knew for a fact that he had never actually gone down on anyone before, ever, but still—he could at least put on a good show for his pretend confusion.

"No." Her tone became even drier if such a thing was possible. Was the poor girl parched? "You definitely didn't." She muttered something under her breath that sounded like "typical fucking bloke."

"Well, I'd hardly know that now, would I?" he asked, in a tone just as dry as hers—see how she liked being spoken to like a bloody desert cactus. "I've never sucked another bloke off now, have I?"

At that, a feral grin spread across her face. "I bet Potter would like it if you sucked _him_ off," she said sweetly, grin widening. "Did you ever think that maybe _that's_ why he keeps looking over at you? Maybe he doesn't want to see you dead, he just wants to see you on your knees."

"Yeah, while I'm being murdered," Draco said in disbelief, wondering where the hell such a comment had come from. Why would Pansy ever assume that Potter wanted…_that_…done to him by Draco? Potter's stares were clearly _venge_ful, not _lust_ful; Pansy needed her eyes checked.

Glancing over at Potter once more, Draco saw the brunet quickly drop his gaze back down to his notes with a flush, leaving Draco wondering just what exactly that meant.

* * *

"He's doing it _again!_" Draco hissed, kicking Pansy's leg under the table.

"Ow, you prat!" she yelped, glaring at him and retaliating by throwing a piece of egg at his hair.

He dodged the yellow bit of egg flying toward him like the skillful Seeker legend he still was—even if he was no longer actually allowed on the team—and grinned widely at her, grimacing as she retaliated for his expert egg-dodging skills by kicking him in the same spot on his shin that he had gently and lovingly nudged her in, albeit a rather hard nudge with his shoe.

"Cow," he grumbled, reaching down to rub at his bruising—most likely broken and permanently crippled—leg.

"Git," she glared.

"Bint."

"Tosser."

"Slag."

At that, she narrowed her eyes. "_Hufflepuff._"

His mouth dropped open in shock. "You take that back!"

"Never," she said smugly, sipping her tea in victory.

"Who even invited you to sit here with me?"

"Um, excuse me!" she squawked, sounding amusingly bird-like. "You're the one who sat with _me_! I was bloody sitting here first, you knob!"

"Who's got a knob?" a voice interrupted, and they both turned to watch Blaise take the seat next to Draco and begin dishing himself breakfast.

"Pansy," Draco said automatically, smirking at her.

"Way bigger one than _his _anyway," she smirked right back, and he glared. "His sad, tiny Hufflepuff knob."

"Why is your tiny knob a sad Hufflepuff?" Blaise asked in confusion, taking a bite of toast.

The blond glared viciously at them both. "It's _not, _that's why! Stop saying that about me!"

"Is someone telling everyone that your knob is a sad tiny Hufflepuff?" Blaise continued, earning a snicker from Pansy.

"Pansy's just bitter that I won't let her anywhere near it anymore," Draco told him smoothly, wanting to kick Pansy again but wisely remembering the throbbing in his own shin.

She rolled her eyes. "This is as near to it as I want to be, trust me."

"Well, this is as near to _you _as _it_ wants to be," he shot back, feeling victorious.

"I think Potter's staring at you," Blaise said absently, snapping their attention onto him and effectively cutting off their extremely witty and mature banter.

"Ha!" Draco cried, slapping his hand down sharply on the table. "I told you! Thank you, Blaise! You are a _real_ friend!"

He stared at Draco blankly.

"Oh, please, Draco," Pansy shook her head. "Remember how we decided that he's only staring at you while he tries to figure out a way to make your death look like an accident?"

"Is Potter trying to kill you again?" Blaise asked, taking another bite of toast.

"Most likely," Draco nodded, sipping his tea. "The boy is obsessed, what can I say."

"Hmm," Blaise said thoughtfully, adding sugar to his coffee. "Well, if _I _was going to murder you, I would probably try to make it look like some sort of horrific bleaching accident. I can't imagine anyone not believing that one."

"Okay," Draco glared, "I take it back. You're a terrible friend. For the last fucking time, I do _not _bleach my fucking hair! This platinum is all natural!"

"It really is," Pansy interjected, smirking at Blaise. "Trust me on that one."

"Hey," Blaise held up one hand, "I didn't say he didn't bleach everywhere."

"Who the fuck bleaches their pubes?" Draco asked incredulously. "Is that even possible?"

"I dunno, maybe we should go ask Potter," Pansy said in a sly voice.

"Sure," Draco rolled his eyes with a snigger. "I will pay you ten Galleons right now if you get up and go ask him that question."

"I'll pay you twelve Galleons if you get up right now and go ask him if he thinks Draco's are bleached," Blaise grinned, speaking to Pansy.

"Sure," she drawled, shaking her head. "Like I really believe twenty-two Galleons are worth getting my tits hexed off by every single Gryffindor just for daring to cross over to their side of the room."

"You finally grew tits?" Draco asked in astonishment, peering down at her chest and pretending to search. "Where? Show me."

Pansy responded with a glare and another hard kick. "I have tits, arsehole. Blaise, tell him how good my tits are!"

"You finally grew tits?" Blaise asked in astonishment, peering down at her chest and pretending to search. "Where? Show me."

"Cunts, the both of you," she glared even harder.

"Is that meant to be an insult?" Blaise grinned, raising one eyebrow at her, "Or are you still offering to show us things?"

This time it was Blaise who winced and reached down to rub at his bruising shin.

"Twats," she muttered, still glaring.

"You know," Draco said lightly, shifting his legs further out of the reach of her feet, "the more you talk about fannies, the more I get the feeling you really do want to show us something."

"Yeah, my foot up your arses," she rolled her eyes.

"Kinky," Draco and Blaise said simultaneously, turning to one another and sniggering.

Glancing past Pany's glaring eyes and twitching lips, Draco couldn't help but search out Potter, forehead wrinkling in confusion as, once again, he had just enough time to see Potter hurriedly drop his gaze down to his own plate.

_Seriously_, Draco thought, now getting worried, _what the hell does that mean?_

* * *

"Just go fucking _ask _him, then, if you're so convinced!" Pansy sighed in exasperation, refusing to open her eyes as she lay back on the grassy hill, soaking up as much autumn sunlight as she could. It wasn't as warm as Draco would have liked, but he had cast some warming charms over the two of them and they could at least pretend that it was the sun keeping them warm instead of the fact that they had cheated nature by using magic. _Suck it, nature,_ Draco thought smugly.

"Yeah," he drawled sarcastically, "because every time one of us just walks right up to the other one out of nowhere and starts accusing them of things, it always ends well, doesn't it?"

"Sounds like the best way to know if he really wants you dead," she shrugged.

"Yes, but I think I would prefer to know that before he actually kills me," he responded dryly, sitting up higher on the large pillow he had transfigured out of one of Pansy's quills.

"No use fighting your fate, darling," she said sweetly, opening her eyes to give him a saccharine smile. "Just give in to it."

"Oh please," he rolled his eyes, "like either of us would be here, alive, if giving in to fate so easily was something we actually did."

"Point, I suppose."

"Who has a point?" a voice said above them, and they both glanced up to find Blaise peering down at them. "Are the two of you still talking about knobs?"

"As always," Draco responded as Blaise took a seat on the grass next to him. "Pansy's is not only real but pointed and misshapen as well. Probably hairy, too. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Oh, you're only jealous because yours is so tiny and hairless," Pansy said with an airy smirk.

"Um, ew," Draco wrinkled his nose. "Who the hell wants a hairy knob?"

"I'm sure you'd be willing to settle for having any kind of knob at all," she continued in the same light tone.

"Are you saying that Draco is knobless and wants a knob for himself for personal use?" Blaise asked in amusement, "Or are you saying that he wants another bloke's knob for lusty purposes?"

"Both," she shrugged. "Either. Take your pick."

"I bet Potter wants to find out if Draco's knob is hairy," Blaise grinned, earning a snort from Pansy and a glare from Draco.

"Who thinks about someone's cock while they're murdering them?" Draco asked crossly, sitting up and glancing over at Potter, who was sitting alone beneath a large tree maybe thirty meters away. "Also, my cock is perfect! He would be so lucky to find out what it really looks like! Pansy! Tell Blaise how good my cock is!"

"You finally grew a cock?" she asked in astonishment, peering down at his groin and pretending to search. "Where? Show me."

Blaise laughed, the sound growing louder at the affronted look Draco could feel shaping his face. "Ten points to Pansy for that one."

She preened, flicking her dark hair over one shoulder smugly. "Don't be too sad, Draco. I bet Potter would be willing to help you search for your prick if you ask him nicely enough."

Draco glared through the blush he could feel staining his cheeks pink, deepening as he glanced over at the dark-haired Gryffindor sitting much too close to be so easily dismissed as coincidence only to find him already staring in Draco's direction.

Blaise laughed even harder. "There's really no other explanation, Draco. Potter either wants to kill you or he wants to fuck you. Possibly even both, who knows. Maybe he wants to kill you and fuck you at the same time."

"Not everyone is like your mother, you know," Draco shot back, still fighting the blush from Pansy's words.

Blaise's mouth dropped open, appearing just as offended as Draco had been hoping for.

"Oooh, ten points to Draco for that one!" Pansy cackled.

It was Draco's turn to preen, smirking at the dark-skinned boy sat to his right as he pretended to flick his blond hair over one shoulder.

"You don't even know my mother," Blaise sniffed, appearing offended but sounding amused. "I'm sure not all of them were on purpose."

"Which do you mean?" Draco asked, still smirking. "The killing or the fucking?"

Another loud cackling laugh burst from Pansy's mouth as she turned to Blaise. "Ten more points for that one, I'm afraid, Blaise."

"And Draco takes the lead where he belongs," Draco grinned, sounding even smugger than before, which was a feat he was quite proud of, to be honest. Anyone who said there was a limit to smugness was obviously wrong.

"Yeah, the lead in wanking," Blaise muttered.

"Oh, don't worry, Blaise," Draco's grin widened, "nobody could ever even hope to beat _you_. Your reign as Hogwarts wanking champion is safe. King Wanker, the people call you."

"Should we go ask Potter who he thinks the bigger wanker is?" Blaise drawled, giving Draco a pointed look.

"Well," the blond began, trying to ignore the strange shivery feeling that the simultaneous thoughts of 'Potter' and 'wanking' sent through him, "if by 'bigger wanker' you mean the person with the most cock with which to wank, obviously that would be _me_."

Pansy laughed. "You know, I'm almost tempted to give him another five points for that one. Maybe just quit now, Blaise, before he takes too big a lead."

"Listen to the girl," Draco grinned. "Everything about me is already big, Blaise—my lead, my cock, my…shoes."

"Your shoes?" he snorted, eyeing Draco with amused disbelief. "Why your shoes?"

"Obviously because foot size is directly related to cock size," Pansy answered, earning raised eyebrows from both boys. "Oh, please," she shook her head. "Just because the two of you own cocks doesn't mean that you're the absolute experts on them. You own _one _cock each—I've dealt with way more cocks in my life than you two sad fools ever have."

"Okay, I'm taking points _away_ for that one," Draco declared, ignoring Pansy's outraged squawk.

"Why don't we go ask Potter how many cocks _he's_ dealt with?" Blaise asked slyly, and all three of them glanced over in the brunet's direction again, only to find him _still _staring.

"He really is plotting my murder," Draco said hollowly, already knowing his nearing death to be impending and merciless and unalterable. What Harry Potter wanted, Harry Potter got, and clearly, he wanted to see Draco dead. Why else would he keep staring at the blond in such a way and following him around all the time?

"Hey," Blaise frowned, "how do you know he's not looking at _me_? Maybe it's _me _he wants to fuck! Or murder! Or both, even! You don't know, it could definitely be me!"

"Oh, please," Draco rolled his eyes, gaze flicking back to Potter. "As far as I know, you two have never even spoken. I doubt he even knows what your voice sounds like."

"Maybe the poor boy has just been harboring a secret love for me from a distance," Blaise nodded to himself, sounding like an idiot.

So Draco decided to tell him. "You sound like an idiot."

"Well, you look like a sunless twat," the other boy shot back.

"Um, aren't all twats sunless?" Draco asked in confusion. "Who suns their sodding minge?"

"Urgh," Pansy shuddered, "can you imagine getting sunburn down there? Good lord."

"Burnt toasted fannies are not an image I want in my head, thank you," Blaise protested, looking rightly traumatized—it was not an image Draco wanted in his head either.

In fact, fannies in general, crisped or otherwise, were not something Draco spent very much time thinking about, and it was not something that he wished to change. His head was perfectly fine being a fanny-free zone, which was something he had always seemed aware of about himself and yet unwilling to explore deeper. One day he would find a girl he was utterly attracted to, of that he had no doubt. And when he did, he was sure that he would think of nothing _but_ her weird minge. It was only a matter of time.

_Unless Potter kills me before I get the chance_, Draco thought wryly, looking over to find the brunet _still _staring at him.

"It's obviously not either of you that Potter keeps following around!" Draco informed them. "It's very clearly _me_ that he wants to do dark, unspeakable things to."

"I really can't tell if you mean murder or sex," Blaise said, raising one eyebrow.

"Just go ask him already, Draco, if only to shut you up about it!" Pansy sighed, sitting up fully. "Come on, let's go. Dinner will be starting soon. And Draco can finally ask which one of us Potter is plotting death for."

"Maybe I will," Draco sniffed, climbing to his feet and preparing to stalk off and bravely confront both Potter and his own doom, but when he looked over to the tree Potter had been sitting under, there was nobody there.

Potter had once again vanished.

* * *

"All right," Draco ground his teeth and rubbed his temples, glaring down at the library table. "That is it. I can't take this anymore!"

"Are you finally going to go speak to him then?" Pansy asked in a voice far too calm for the situation, scribbling something down in her notes.

"It's either that or wait for him to ambush you," Blaise said with a shrug, glancing over at Potter, who was currently sitting all by himself at a nearby table, head buried in some essay he was pretending to write. The Gryffindor had drifted in not even five minutes after the three Slytherins had found a table in a corner of the library, taking a seat nearby before they had even finished pulling out their books.

"Blaise is right," Pansy said in a bored voice, "it's either confront Potter or wait to be confronted by him. But either way, you may as well just get the confrontation out of the way now."

"Unless you're scared of speaking to him," Blaise smirked.

"Oh sod off!" Draco whispered furiously, careful to keep his voice low. "I'm not scared of the wanker!"

"Suuure," Blaise drawled, and Draco narrowed his eyes at the tone.

"You don't know anything," the blond huffed, crossing his arms as he felt his heart begin to pound wildly. He could do this—he could speak to Potter. Just because he hadn't spoken to Potter since the day of his stupid trial didn't mean he _couldn't_, it just meant he was smart enough _not _to.

"I dare you to go speak to him," Blaise said with a wide grin.

Draco rolled his eyes at his stupid friend. "Oh, like I'm that easily manipulated."

"And Pansy will give you a blowjob."

"No she won't!" Pansy squawked, and Draco really was starting to suspect that she was part flamingo somewhere along her family line. He wasn't actually sure what flamingos sounded like, but they seemed like they would be squawky birds, and Pansy was definitely a squawky bird. _Yep, part flamingo_, he decided firmly.

"Like I would've taken him up on that last offer anyway," Draco smirked at her, the expression widening at her glare.

"All right," Blaise said lightly, "how about she _won't _give you a blowjob if you go talk to him, then?"

"Stop using my impressive cock-sucking skills to bargain with, Blaise!" she snapped.

"I think it was more a lack of your cock-sucking skills he was using to bargain with," Draco said absently, glancing at Potter, who was now staring resolutely down at his notes, but Draco felt a flash of satisfaction jolt through him when the brunet lifted his gaze to Draco's only to immediately drop it with a flush the moment he realized the blond was staring at him.

"You two are such bloody prats," she grumbled, dotting an _i _on her essay so viciously the quill punched a hole through the parchment.

"I'll do it," Draco said suddenly, right as Blaise was opening his mouth to reply to Pansy. "I'll talk to Potter and find out what the hell he wants, and then when I'm right about everything, I will come back over here and say _I told you so _and feel vindicated at your overwhelming shame and you will then apologize for ever doubting me and grovel for my forgiveness."

"Forgiveness for what?" Blaise asked in annoyed amusement.

"For doubting me," Draco said, in a tone that he hoped even dumb Blaise would be able to recognize as condescending.

"Blaise and I can't wait," Pansy said in a tone that even dumb Blaise would be able to recognize as sarcastic.

Blaise turned to her in confusion. "Do you mean that we can't wait to doubt him or we can't wait to be forgiven by him?"

She snorted. "Mostly I mean we can't wait to watch him willingly walk to his death by going over there to confront Potter."

"That should definitely be entertaining," Blaise nodded, "at least for a few minutes. It'll be a nice break from studying."

"As if you've even started studying," Draco said with a glance at Blaise's closed textbook.

"Oh, just go meet your black-haired death already," Blaise responded, flipping him a two-finger salute.

"Fine," Draco said, hoping he sounded brave and determined. Lord, how his heart was racing, and he hadn't even stood up yet! "I will. And I'll be far more manly about it than either of you would be in my shoes."

"Prove it," Blaise said with an evil grin—Draco knew evil when he saw it, and Blaise's smile was most certainly evil.

"All right then," he said, insides squirming. Looking over, he waited in silence for the exact right moment. After ages of Potter staring down at his essay, scrawling something across the surface of the parchment that was most likely inane and inarticulate, Draco made his move, rising from his chair and shooting Pansy and Blaise a pointed look that very clearly said "You two will be the ones to most miss me when I've been brutally murdered by the green-eyed prat". His looks were so telling and expressive that he didn't even need to say the actual words aloud.

Crossing the library as quietly as he could, Draco took immense satisfaction in slapping his palm down sharply on the table Potter was sat at as he dropped into the empty chair across from the brunet, earning a loud gasp and a violent jump. Draco fervently hoped that Pansy and Blaise had been watching and had noticed the excellent reaction—he knew he would certainly treasure the memory of it.

Potter's eyes widened in…was that fear? No, Draco mused, it appeared to be more like panic, surprising Draco; it certainly was not the emotion he would expect to see directed at him from the person actively plotting his murder.

"Malfoy," Potter croaked, eyes dropping down to his notes before flicking back up to Draco only to flit away again in the next second.

"What do you want?" Draco asked flatly, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Potter as suspiciously as he could whilst his heart hammered fast enough to hurt.

"_Me?" _Potter squeaked, looking horrified at himself for the ridiculous sound. He cleared his throat and tried again, face bright red. "Me? What do you mean what do _I _want? _You're _the one who came over here!"

"Yes," Draco agreed, unable to disagree with the exclamation. "But you're the one who followed me here. And don't even try to deny it," he added, holding up a hand as Potter opened his mouth to most likely argue the very unarguable statement. For once in their entire time of knowing one another, Draco was one hundred percent in the right. "Is stalking me some sort of compulsive need of yours or something?"

If possible, Potter flushed even darker, appearing embarrassed and somehow oddly sweet for it, startling Draco with the awful unMalfoy-like thought. Potter was not _sweet_, no matter how almost-adorably flushed he seemed as he shuffled his notes with nervous hands. Damn it, the other boy was a _prat_, and certainly not a cute one! Prats were _never _cute! They were _pratty!_

"I know you've been following me around," Draco continued, feeling strangely proud and annoyed at the fact that Potter seemed unable to look at him for longer than three seconds at a time. Draco had very clearly been the one Potter had been following around and obsessively staring at over the course of the entire month of term, had he not? And yet now that he was sat right in front of the blond, Potter seemed so unwilling to actually look at him. "So just tell me what you want already, Potter. You're freaking me out."

"I'm not following you," the brunet muttered, glaring down at his essay, although the expression was rather ruined by the blush still painting his cheeks crimson.

"Oh, please." Draco would have rolled his eyes if only Potter was willing to actually look up to see the sarcastic gesture—the selfish sod, not looking at Draco's very telling and expressive gestures. "Who do you think you're speaking to, Potter? I know exactly what it's like to be stalked by you."

Potter finally looked up to glare at Draco, and Draco couldn't help but smirk.

"Just tell me what you want," the blond said in a low voice, leaning forward to fix the other boy with a fierce stare. Potter's breathing quickened in response as a light shiver seemed to rake through him, which Draco frowned at. That was certainly a reaction he had never seen in Potter before. Draco dropped his voice even lower. "Tell me what you want from me, Potter."

Potter inhaled sharply as he fidgeted in his seat, and as Draco leaned closer to ask the question yet again, he noticed an odd thing—Potter was no longer staring at Draco's eyes, but about two inches lower. Potter was staring at Draco's mouth. He didn't even appear to be blinking, he was so transfixed.

"Potter," Draco whispered, tilting his head curiously, and Potter's breathing sped up. "What do you want from me?"

The question finally succeeded in catching Potter's attention and he wrenched his gaze back up to Draco's eyes, jerking away as though Draco had lunged at him. "N-nothing," he stammered, swiftly collecting his belongings and jamming them into his bag before leaping to his feet and tearing from the room.

Draco watched his unexpected retreat with a frown, brain slowly coming to a conclusion that he had never once paused to consider as a reason for Potter's insistent stalking. Wandering back over to his two friends, Draco took a seat in a slight daze, unsure just what it was he was feeling.

"What the hell happened over there?" Blaise immediately demanded, gaze darting between Draco and Potter's recent path of flight from the library. "What the hell did you say to him to make him run away like that? I've never seen him run away from anything! I didn't even know he knew how!"

"Did you threaten him or something, Draco?" Pansy asked, staring at Draco oddly. "Because if you did, I am willing to award you fifty points for it right now. It'll most likely come back to bite you in the arse at a later date, but who knew you had the bloody stones for something as bold as outright threatening Harry fucking Potter?"

"No," Draco glared, mind still attempting to sort through everything that had happened. "Of course I didn't threaten him, I'm not a fucking idiot. I did, however, finally figure out why he's been following me around and just what exactly it is that he wants from me."

"Right." Pansy and Blaise exchanged a look.

"Well, what is it, then?" Pansy pressed.

Draco took a deep breath. "Harry Potter is in love with me."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: In which schemes are concocted, Slytherins are manipulative, flirting is attempted, and conversations are awkward.

p.s. if anyone was thinking that anything about this story would be slow-paced or their relationship would be in any way gradual, I'm sorry to have to tell you that that shit is just not my tempo. Just a heads-up for you lovelies.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"I don't know, Draco," Pansy mused to his left as the three of them strolled down a wide corridor. "I don't know if I've seen Potter stare at you at all these past three days. And he seems to have given up following you."

"You don't know most things in this world, Pansy," Draco sniffed, refusing to even entertain the idea that she was wrong. Potter was in love with him. It had been plain as day in the library. "I _know _he's in love with me. You didn't see the way he was staring at me! He just kept—looking. At my mouth."

"Maybe he was thinking about punching it," she suggested, earning a glare from the blond. "He's definitely done it before you know."

"Yes, which is why I know what he looks like when he wants to do something violent to me. That was not a violent look he was giving me."

"So what are you going to do with the information?" Blaise wondered curiously. "I'm not saying I believe you, mind, but if it is true, well…there are so many options available for you to exploit such a thing."

"Exploit?" Draco asked, feeling bemused by the word. What did Blaise mean by exploit?

"Yes," he said slowly, sounding amazed that he even needed to explain such a thing to Draco. "If Potter is crushing on you, use it! Take advantage of it! Do your Slytherin ancestors proud by using the information to your benefit!"

"What do you mean?" Draco felt his forehead wrinkle in confusion. "Like, blackmail him with it or something?"

"If that's the route you would like to take," Blaise shrugged. "Mostly, though, I was thinking that you could use this to earn back your reputation."

"What do you mean?" Draco stopped in his tracks, staring at Blaise oddly. "How would I earn back my reputation? You think I should spread rumors around the school about him crushing on me?"

"No, Draco, that's not what I meant," Blaise sighed. "Something like that wouldn't even work, especially if people heard it from any of us. Nobody is ever going to believe anyone but Potter himself about something like that. _Buuut_—" he paused to offer the blond another one of his trademark evil grins, "imagine if you were able to seduce him into getting your reputation back. You make him think you return his feelings, he starts being seen with you in public, everyone decides that maybe you're not such a horrid soulless git after all if Harry Potter thinks you're worthy enough to date, and bam! You have your good social standing back. And by extension, the social standing of Pansy and me as well."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're just trying to whore me out for your own personal gain."

Blaise raised one dark eyebrow. "And your point?"

"Tosser," Draco muttered.

"Look, Draco, I'm not saying you have to shag him," Blaise said gently. "Potter's a Gryffindor, yes? Some sort of straight-out-of-the-pages-of-a-romance-novel level of gentleman, right? I think we all know how stupidly high his annoying morals are; I'm sure he's the type of sad fool who would want to wait to be physically intimate. If he's in love with you, I'm sure what's he's really focusing on are the kisses and the chance to hold your hand in public. You can sacrifice a few kisses with another bloke if it gets people to stop sending you cursed hate mail, can't you?"

"I don't get _that _much hate mail! And most of it isn't even cursed!" Draco protested. "It's getting less and less cursed every day! And it's not like Howlers are that difficult to Vanish, anyway!" Draco wasn't sure why, but the thought of seducing Potter, of holding his hand between classes and kissing him in the corridors…it sent an odd shudder through him and he wasn't sure what to make of the strange feeling.

"This could make it stop completely though, Draco!" Blaise argued. "This is your best shot at gaining back _any _sort of respect from the nation!"

"Unless all it does is add to the amount of hate mail he gets," Pansy commented, shooting Blaise a stinging look. "What if all this does is put Draco in danger from all of Potter's rabid fans who don't think a Death Eater deserves to be involved with their Saviour?"

"Yeah, Blaise, what about that?" Draco turned to him, shuddering again at the thought of being torn about by a stampede of crazed prepubescent Potter fanatics. "You're trying to whore me out _and _endanger my life at the same time!"

"Oh, please," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Do you really think that Harry Potter would allow anyone to harm anybody he was involved with? Especially if he really is in love with you like you think he is? Do you forget what a goddamn annoyingly determined hero he is? He's not going to let anyone hurt you if you're with him, Draco, especially not his stupid fans."

"You don't know what those nutters are capable of," Draco argued, unwilling to give in to the strange pleasant feeling that was spreading through him at the thought of being involved with Potter and watching the dark-haired boy defend him from the nation's wrath. "You don't seem to realize how unbalanced they clearly are."

"I'm not saying they're not," Blaise said with a shrug. "But I'm telling you that Potter is the type of person who would willingly allow himself to be hurt before allowing anybody he cared about to be hurt. Were you not there when he walked into the fucking Forbidden Forest to _die?"_

"Of course I was," Draco snapped, stomach twisting at the thought of how close Potter really had come to dying. "By myself, because neither of _you _was there for that! You were already cowering somewhere far, far away by that point!"

"Just give it a shot," Blaise continued as they reached the Great Hall. "At least try talking to him again, just to see if you really are right. If it turns out you're wrong, then I will willingly retract everything I've just said and you can forget my brilliant plan and I'll also award you sixty points just for the trouble. But if it turns out you're right, well…" he grinned cheekily, "there are worse people to hold hands with than Harry Potter."

Draco glared but didn't respond, clenching his hands as he felt them tingle at the thought of being held by Harry Potter. What would the brunet's hands feel like? Calloused and rough, or smooth and soft? What would his lips feel like against Draco's mouth? Soft or chapped? Would he be more of a furious, possessive kisser? Or a gentle, loving one? Would he really be willing to be seen with Draco in public? And would such a thing really help the nation see Draco in a different light than that of a disgusting, disgraced Death Eater?

All throughout dinner, Draco thought about what Blaise had said, staring at the back of Potter's head and wondering—what would it be like? Would any of it be possible? Was Draco actually capable of seducing someone like Harry Potter? Even though Potter could only be so lucky, of course. After all, Draco was very seductive, possibly the most seductive student in the entire school, probably even in the entire history of the entire school. He had never actually ever tried to seduce another student before, but Draco knew how irresistible he was—he had eyes, after all. The only reasons nobody outside of possibly Potter wanted to be with him were clearly because they were all cripplingly shy and Draco had never actively tried to seduce anybody before, despite his overwhelming and impossibly magnetic charm. Draco definitely had charm. Just because other people didn't see it or mislabeled it as arrogance didn't mean that it didn't exist. It was just a very specific kind of charm, one that could really only charm very specific types of people.

"I wouldn't even know how," he said out of nowhere, surprising Blaise and Pansy, who both turned to him with raised eyebrows. "To seduce a bloke, I mean," he blushed, stabbing at his chicken with his fork. "I've never seduced a bloody bloke before."

"Oh, please," Pansy scoffed, eyeing him pityingly. "You say that as though men are difficult. All you have to do is make them think that there's even the slightest chance of sex and they're yours."

"I am not having sex with him!" Draco hissed, flushing darker.

"I never said you had to," she said in a pointed tone, one corner of her mouth pulled up. "I said to make him _think_ there's a chance. That doesn't mean that you actually have to follow through with it and shag him. If you can make men think there's a chance they'll get sex without ever actually saying it aloud in those words, then you are in no way obligated to ever actually follow through with it. It's how flirting bloody works, Draco."

"Oh, right, I suppose," he said thoughtfully. "So, what, you're saying I should just flirt with him and see where it goes?"

"Well, now you're making it sound like you _want_ to follow it all the way through," Blaise smirked, and Draco threw a piece of chicken at him, satisfied when it hit the other boy in the forehead.

"I never said that!" he disagreed vehemently. "This was _your _bloody plan in the first place!"

"Of course it was," Blaise said patiently, flicking a shapeless piece of veg back at the blond. "Because it was a brilliant one."

"Okay, so…" Draco paused, praying he would soon learn how to control his stupid blushing face from turning unsightly colors, "how would I even go about it then? I can't just approach him out nowhere, he ran away from me last time!"

"Yes, but last time you went there to confront him, not flirt with him," Pansy pointed out. "Men are very easily intimidated, trust me."

"Oh, like you're the fucking expert on all things male," Draco sighed in exasperation. "You've never even had a real boyfriend!"

"But I _have _shagged more blokes than the both of you put together," she said, eyes flashing.

Draco and Blaise exchanged a look. "Well," Blaise said in the same patient tone as earlier, "that's not really a difficult thing to manage, since mine and Draco's combined score of men we've shagged is zero."

"Not to mention your total slaggishness and unhealthy love of cock," Draco added.

Pansy smiled sweetly at him. "You should be more worried about _your_ impending slaggishness and soon-to-be-discovered love of cock when you're sucking Potter off in the first-floor loo this time next week."

Draco recoiled in fear, face paling. "You said I wouldn't have to do that!" he cried, turning to Blaise.

"Pansy, stop traumatizing him before this plan even has a chance to get off the ground," Blaise sighed, turning to glare at her.

"I'm just telling him what the likely outcome is of pursuing this particular plan," Pansy said with an unrepentant shrug. "A lot of misguided people like to think that men, especially the sweet men, are romantic and gentle and adoring and would love nothing more than to wait until their wedding night to finally be intimate with their beloved," she sniggered, "but I can tell you for a fact that most men are just dirty perverts who literally want nothing in this world more than getting their cocks sucked. Even heroic Gryffindors want their heroic cocks sucked, Draco."

"Blaise," Draco whined fearfully, throwing a piece of chicken at Pansy as he began rethinking the intelligence of Blaise's stupid plan.

"Hey," Blaise soothed, reaching out to pat Draco's head, "if it comes to that, just tell Potter that you're an inexperienced virgin and you're not ready for such a thing yet. If he really is the gentleman he wants the world to think he is, he'll have no choice but to melt at your very real and obvious fear and agree to wait. Or you can do one better and tell him that you want to wait until the timing is just right because you want your first time to be _special_," he cooed the sickening word in a way that made Draco feel nauseous.

"Could work," Pansy said thoughtfully. "Potter does seem the type unable to deny a request like that. You can even drop him some bollocks about how it's some pureblood tradition to be raised to value the sanctity of the marriage bed and that all purebloods are secret untouched virgins waiting for their wedding nights."

"Yes," Blaise snapped his fingers gleefully, "that one. That adds a greater air of romance to the whole thing that a sap like Potter won't be able to resist."

"But how do I even approach him?" Draco asked, shoving the thought of having to explain to Potter about his virgin status to the back of his mind for the moment. "What do I even say?"

"Don't say anything," Pansy said immediately, "just be a bold, reckless Gryffindor and walk right up to him and kiss him. If he kisses you back, then you were right."

Draco stared at her. "And if I'm wrong?"

"Well," she shrugged, "then Blaise and I will make sure your grave always has flowers on it."

"Don't listen to her, Draco," Blaise cut in, shaking his head at Pansy. "Something like that would never work with Potter, he gets people throwing themselves at him far too often for him to see any appeal in it. You need subtlety for true seduction. You need to think of something the two of you could talk about that wouldn't lead to an argument. Something you could have a civil conversation about. All you need to do is be the one to first approach him and start it all. If you can do that nicely and pull off a civil conversation, with just the barest hint of flirting, I promise that the next time the two of you speak, it'll be him seeking _you _out."

"Well, what could we talk about?" Draco asked, desperately searching his mind for _anything _the two of them had in common. They didn't like any of the same things; they didn't have any common interests or speak to any of the same people. They didn't even have the same color hair!

"I got it!" Pansy proclaimed, snapping her fingers even louder than Blaise had. "You need to thank him!"

The two boys stared at her blankly. "Thank him?" Draco echoed, blinking. "Thank him for what?"

"What do you mean for what?" she said in an incredulous voice. "For saving your life! For speaking at your trial! For not killing you the moment you stepped through the doorway of the castle at the start of term!"

"Holy fuck, she's right, Draco!" Blaise exclaimed, sounding excited. "That's it! That's perfect! That's how you win him over! Potter's such a bloody sap, he'll be completely unable to resist gratitude! Especially coming from someone like you, who has never, ever expressed any sort of gratitude to anybody ever in the entire history of the world!"

"Um, excuse you," Draco said in an icy tone, "I am capable of expressing gratitude, you know."

"Yes," Blaise rolled his eyes, "but my point is that you don't. Ever. Toward anyone for any reason, even if they used to sit up at night helping you study for O.W.L.'s and checking over your Arithmancy homework for you out of the kindness of their unappreciated heart."

"Oh, please!" Draco scoffed. "That wasn't out of the kindness of your heart, I _paid _you to look over my Arithmancy essays!"

"And yet I was still never thanked for it," Blaise said sadly.

"And you never will be," Draco informed him. "Deal with it."

"Look!" Pansy whispered, pointing across the Hall, and their heads snapped up as one to watch Potter climb to his feet before waiting for his loser sidekicks to join him. "He's getting up! Now's your chance, Draco!"

"What, _now_?!" Draco asked shrilly, feeling panic slice through him. "I can't talk to him now, he's with Weasley and Granger!"

"No, that's even better!" Blaise whispered eagerly. "If you ask to speak to him alone, while his friends are there, that just makes you seem more genuine! Someone who wanted to harm him is hardly going to approach him in front of witnesses, are they?"

"Fuck," Draco muttered, trying to take deep breaths. "Fuck, okay. All right. I can do this; I can speak to the stupid prat."

"Er, maybe don't call him that to his face, though," Blaise advised.

"Hurry, Draco, they just left the Hall!" Pansy hissed, kicking him under the table and earning a glare. What was it with her and kicking now? Kicking was _Draco's _thing! How dare she steal his thing!

"Fine," he glared even harder as he climbed to his feet. "You lot better fucking appreciate what I'm about to do for the three of us."

"A true Slytherin hero," Blaise nodded. "The Gryffindors don't know shit about true selflessness and heroism."

"No, they don't," Draco agreed, taking one last deep breath before hurrying after the Golden Trio.

By the time he left the Great Hall, they were already out of sight, and Draco hurried around the corner, desperate to both catch up to the Gryffindors and also run far away and hide from everything forever. _I can't believe I'm about to do this! _Spotting the three familiar figures, Draco quickened his stride but remained careful not to break into a run and cause himself to become unattractively flushed. No, he had to look good if he was going to pull off this whole stupid seduction thing.

It was a good thing looking good was not a challenge for him.

"Potter!" he called as he neared, grateful when his voice came out sounding far more like a man's voice rather than the mouse's squeak he had been expecting. The three Gryffindors all turned to face him as one, staring in surprise when they saw who it was. Weasley's eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion but Draco ignored him. He wasn't there to see the stupid ginger wanker, he didn't care what Weasley thought of him or his—admittedly questionable—motives. "Potter," Draco said again as he reached them, noting that Potter seemed to be frozen in shock, staring at Draco as though he had three heads. "Can I speak to you? Alone?" he asked breathlessly, suddenly feeling terrified at the prospect of being all alone with Harry Potter.

"Why?" Weasley asked rudely, arms folded as he eyed Draco with obvious distrust.

"If I wanted you to know, Weasley, I wouldn't have asked to speak to him alone," Draco answered coolly, copying Weasley's stance.

"Harry has better things to do than speak with stupid albino prats," he replied hotly.

Draco raised one platinum eyebrow at him. "Did a _ginger_ just call _me _an albino, _really?" _The comment earned an unexpected snort of laughter from Potter, who looked surprised at himself for the sound.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione said placatingly, placing one hand on his shoulder. "It's Harry's decision who he speaks to." The significant look she shot the brunet did not go unnoticed by Draco.

"Er, right," Potter said, sounding uncertain. "Um, yeah, then, Malfoy, I guess that's fine." He turned to the other two Gryffindors "You two can go on ahead, I'll meet up with you in the common room later."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Weasley asked, still glaring at Draco suspiciously.

The sight made Draco roll his eyes. "His life is safe, Weasley, I only want to speak to him, for Merlin's sake."

"See, Ron?" Granger said, shooting Potter another complicated look. "Now come on, Harry will find us later."

"Fine," the redhead said with narrowed eyes, glaring at Draco for another few seconds before finally being pulled away by an exasperated Granger.

"Er," Potter's voice snapped Draco's attention away from the retreating figures marching away and back onto the nervous-looking brunet before him. "Er, so what did you want to talk about?"

"Um…" Draco began, staring around himself. "Let's not talk out here. Let's talk…" he scanned the corridor for a more appropriate place to hold a private conversation in, "let's talk in there." And without waiting for a response, he snatched at Potter's wrist and tugged him further down the hallway and into an empty boys' loo, taking his time shutting the door behind them before turning to find Potter standing near the sinks and staring down at the wrist Draco had grabbed, still appearing shocked.

"What…" the brunet swallowed, "what is it, Malfoy?"

"I, erm…" Draco took several steps closer to Potter, watching as his eyes got wider and wider before the blond changed his mind and went to lean back against the nearest wall instead, eyeing Potter in silence for several seconds.

"I haven't been following you," Potter blurted. "That thing you said, in the library the other day. It, er, wasn't true. Obviously. 'Cos you're the one who followed _me_, actually, and dragged me in here. So…you know, you can't accuse me of stalking you anymore."

"I wasn't going to," Draco said in amusement, noting the way Potter did not even appear to be blinking as he stared at Draco, silently waiting for the blond to continue. "I actually wanted to…" Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment and willing himself to dig down deep and find whatever tiny scrap of courage he was sure had to exist in him somewhere. "I wanted to thank you," he half-shouted without warning, the five words ringing off the tiled walls and slamming into both boys like a hard, solid slap of tangible shock.

"Thank…" Potter swallowed again, "thank me?"

"Erm, yes," Draco fidgeted nervously, dropping his gaze down to the floor. "Thank you. For—for speaking at my trial. And…" he took another deep breath, "for saving my life. I realized that day in the library that I had never actually thanked you for either of those things and, well, they're both pretty big deals. I mean, being alive and not being imprisoned are two of my favorite things in the world, really, so, you know, thank you for allowing me to continue having both."

A look of pure wonder stole over Potter's entire face and he inhaled sharply as he took a step back in surprise. "You—you really want to thank me?"

"Of course," Draco shrugged, feeling uncomfortable at the look of stunned amazement Potter was giving him, as if Draco had performed some sort of impossible miracle right in front of him. "I _am_ capable of expressing gratitude, you know."

"No, I know," Potter said quickly. "I just…wasn't expecting to ever actually hear it. Not from you."

"Oh," Draco said in a quiet voice, frowning. Why was everyone so shocked at the idea of him thanking someone? Draco had thanked people before—hadn't he? He was mostly almost completely sure that he had thanked others in the past—probably so many people that he could not keep track and had simply forgotten due to what an extremely common occurrence his expressed gratitude was.

"I—I didn't mean that as an insult," Potter said, sounding apologetic, and Draco glanced up to find him rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"No, just as the truth," Draco said in the same quiet voice, folding his arms protectively over his chest. Merlin, why the hell was it now apparently so easy for Potter to hurt his feelings?

The bathroom was silent for what felt like an entire year to Draco, and he was unsure what else to say or if the conversation had already been enough to be able to end it right there and still have Potter seek him out at a later date.

"You're welcome, then," Potter's soft, almost shy voice cut through the silence like a spell, and Draco's head snapped up in surprise.

"Why did you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Why did I what?" Potter's nose scrunched up in confusion. "Why did I accept your thanks?"

"No," Draco snorted, shaking his head. "Why did you, you know, speak up for me at my trial?"

He watched in fascination as Potter blushed bright red and ducked his head. "Er, I dunno."

"You didn't speak at anyone else's, as far as I know," Draco pointed out, wanting to hear Potter admit that he had spoken up for Draco because he was madly and passionately in love with the blond and wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees right there and beg for Draco's love in return. Potter on his knees before him was certainly an appealing image, for a whole multitude of different reasons.

"Well, I just—I-I-I—" Potter stammered, appearing mortified with himself. "I just—I didn't think that you deserved Azkaban, all right? I just—I couldn't stand the thought of you being sent there, okay?" The words had nearly been shouted and Draco listened to them echo around the large room before everything faded back into silence.

"What?" he whispered; it appeared that it was his turn for shocked wonder. "You…you don't think I deserve Azkaban?"

"Well, obviously not," Potter shrugged uncomfortably, still blushing. "I know that you did a lot of messed up things, but…but you were never one of the truly guilty Death Eaters."

Draco laughed hollowly, feeling his stomach tighten. "You don't have to lie to me, Potter."

"I'm not!" Potter declared hotly. "I swear it! I know that you were guilty of a lot of fucked-up things and that you had always been a git, but you were never actually _evil_, just extra gittish. You were just, you know…stupid." The moment the final word passed his lips, Potter snapped his mouth shut, looking horrified. "I-I didn't mean stupid, that's not what I meant," he babbled, eyes shining with regret. "Fuck, that's not what I meant, Malfoy! Fuck," he paused to inhale deeply. "I just meant that the way you handled things could have been a bit smarter, but…"

"It's fine, Potter," Draco said shortly. "I am very well aware of my many mistakes, and I don't need them pointed out or falsely justified to me. I am very aware of every single one of the extremely stupid decisions I made during the war."

"I'm not trying to justify or rationalize anything," Potter said, sounding sorry. "I know what it's like to feel backed into a corner, Malfoy."

"Sure you do," Draco muttered, glaring down at the floor as he felt the familiar waves of shame sweep through him at the unwanted memories of all the decidedly stupid actions he had taken during the war. Potter was right, there were so many things the blond could have done better, so many things he wished he could go back and change. Draco really had handled every single thing poorly, and Potter clearly had no idea how much of an idiot Draco really did feel for every one of those bad decisions.

"Do you really think I don't know what that's like?" Potter asked, now sounding annoyed. "Do you really think I haven't lived my entire fucking life with my back against one fucked-up wall or another?"

"Yes," Draco snapped, "of course you have. Nobody knows suffering like you, Potter. Thank god you were able to handle every single one of those situations less stupidly than I did. The world would only have suffered and bled for my moronic idiocy had I been put in those same situations as you and asked to play the same role."

Potter grit his teeth. "That's not what I meant, Malfoy!"

"Whatever," Draco muttered, every inch of his skin itching as he felt suddenly desperate to get out of that damned bathroom and away from stupid—but still less stupid than Draco—Harry Potter. "Well, I just wanted to say thank you and now I have. I hope my stupid gratitude didn't shock you too badly, Potter. I'll see you around, and I suppose in the meantime, I'll try to be less of an idiot about everything."

And with that sufficiently dramatic outburst hanging in the air behind him, Draco turned and wrenched the bathroom door open, stomping through it and ignoring the cry of "No, Malfoy, wait!" that echoed behind him. He did not want to admit to himself how much it hurt to think that Potter thought him stupid, but Draco could not fight the pain that twisted his insides as he realized that Blaise's plan would never work because Potter would clearly _never _fall in love with someone as stupid as Draco. Draco was an idiot, and Potter was far too good for him.

_If I'm stupid then he's stupid too_, Draco thought viciously, knowing the thought was not true. Stupid Potter was far smarter than stupid Draco. Stupid Draco was a villainous idiot, whereas stupid Potter was a sodding moronic hero.

_Stupid perfect prat_.

* * *

"So, wait, why didn't it work again?" Pansy asked in confusion, voice low as they made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Because he's a superior prat and I'm a stupid idiot," Draco sighed in annoyance.

"Yes," Pansy rolled her eyes, "but you've already told us that. And we already knew that before you even had to tell us. What I'm asking is what actually _happened_."

Draco glared at her. "That's exactly what happened. I thanked him, he accepted, I asked him why he spoke at my trial, he told me that I didn't deserve Azkaban and then proceeded to call me the stupidest human being in existence."

"Oh please," Blaise snorted. "As if Potter said that. Why would he speak up for you at your trial, accept your thanks, tell you that you never deserved to be thrown in jail, and then call you the stupidest human being in all of existence?"

"I never said _all _of existence," Draco huffed, still upset about the previous night and the disastrous conversation in the bathroom. Why had he ever thought that he and Potter could be in a bathroom together without some sort of horrible incident occurring? Lord, he really was just as stupid as Potter had accused him of being.

"What did he actually say, Draco?" Blaise prodded.

Draco ground his teeth. "He was telling me that I didn't deserve prison because even though I had always been a git, I had never actually been evil, just stupid, because of how poorly I handled everything. And then I got offended and walked out, end of story. Your plan failed. Feel free to now cry about it."

"You idiot," Pansy chided. "Why'd you just leave like that? You've definitely said much worse things to him in the past beyond calling him stupid!"

"No, Pansy," Blaise beamed, giving Draco a pleased look. "No, this is perfect! Draco, you are a genius!"

"What?" Both Pansy and Draco traded a confused look before turning back to Blaise.

"Don't you see?" Blaise exclaimed excitedly, lowering his voice as they neared the doors to the Great Hall. "Potter insulted you after you thanked him for saving your life! And then you got your feelings hurt and left! That's so bloody brilliant I could kiss you!"

"Please don't," Draco said automatically, still struggling to make sense of how it would in any way help further Blaise's stupid plan along. "And how is any of that good? Your plan failed, that's the end of it."

"Of course it's not the end of it!" Blaise gave him an incredulous look. "Maybe you really are as stupid as Potter thinks."

"Ta ever so, arsehole," Draco glared, still failing to understand what Blaise was so excited about.

"He hurt your feelings, Draco!" Blaise explained, shaking his head at the blank looks he was still receiving. "When you were trying to do something nice for him! You were _literally _expressing your gratitude for him, and then he turns around and accidentally insults you right after he accepts it! There's no way he won't track you down to apologize! I bet you that he's been up all night thinking about it and feeling guilty! Just you watch, at some point today, he will definitely approach you to apologize."

"You're insane," Draco accused, wondering what daft potion Blaise was on. "I'm the one who walked out on him! You really think he's going to chase me down just to apologize?"

"Yes," Blaise said simply as they reached the Slytherin table, sliding into seats and beginning to dish themselves breakfast. Draco had only taken two bites when Blaise nudged him sharply. "Look up," he said cheerfully, digging his elbow into Draco's side.

Sparing a quick glare for the dark-skinned boy, Draco glanced up, automatically zeroing in on the Gryffindor table, only to drop his fork in surprise. Potter was staring directly at him, his face appearing sad even from that distance.

"My god, doesn't he just look like the world's most kicked puppy," Blaise proclaimed in a happy voice. "I can't believe it, Draco, but you really were right. He really is in love with you."

"What?" Draco asked blankly, unable to remove his eyes from Potter's miserable green gaze. Lord, Draco could practically taste the other boy's remorse from all the way across the room.

"I'd be surprised if he didn't march right over here and beg your forgiveness in front of the entire school," Blaise declared, still beaming at Draco, who finally shook himself from his Potter-daze to glare at the man next to him.

"I don't even want any more of this stupid plan!" Draco insisted, dropping his angry glare down to his poor innocent cup of tea.

"Hey," Blaise shrugged, "if you aren't willing to follow through with it, I'll seduce him myself. This plan is going to work, I know it."

At the thought of Blaise seducing Potter, Draco's head snapped up and his glare sharpened so quickly it actually hurt his face. "You're not the one he's in love with, dickhead. Stay away from him."

"So, you will go through with it then," Blaise said smugly, taking a victory bite of egg.

Draco said nothing, only stared into the dark contents of his teacup as he stirred the scalding liquid, watching the circular ripples spin round and round the cup.

"Draco," Blaise said softly, placing an arm around Draco's shoulders and leaning in close to look him in the eye, "aren't you tired of the way the school treats us? We're pariahs, the three of us. We're social outcasts. Not a single person in this castle likes us or wants to be near us because we're the only Slytherin eighth-years to return and not a single person here trusts us. They think we're evil. They think we should never have been allowed back here. Even the other Slytherins shun us because they blame us for the way everyone else sees them. Don't you want to change this awful view everyone has of us being horrible soulless monsters unworthy of even a single ounce of kindness?"

Remaining quiet, Draco shrugged, knowing that Blaise was right about the way that everyone saw them.

"Potter is the one person in this school who could make people stop seeing us that way," Blaise continued, arm still heavy where it lay draped across Draco's shoulders. "If everyone sees him publicly claim you as a partner, they'll stop thinking that there's nothing about us worth loving. If Harry Potter can love you, then there must be _something_ worth loving, right? And by extension, Pansy and me, as well."

Draco sighed, not sure if Blaise was even anywhere close to being in the right, but perhaps it might just be a chance worth taking.

"Fine, then," he gave in grudgingly. "_If _he approaches me wanting to talk, then I guess I'll try and see this insane plan through, even though it's ridiculous."

"You absolute beautiful legend, you," Blaise grinned, leaning forward to press a very loud and very obnoxious smacking kiss to Draco's cheek, who instantly shoved him away, face pink and burning.

"Nobody wanted that to happen, Blaise, Jesus Christ," Draco complained, wiping his cheek in disgust.

Blaise laughed loudly at his reaction, dropping his arm from Draco's shoulder and turning back to his breakfast. "Just make sure you save all that cuteness for Potter, you precious little pale-skinned thing."

Draco's eyes narrowed in outrage. "How dare you. I am neither cute nor precious, you knob head! Pansy, tell him what a nasty bastard I am, please!"

"Don't worry, Draco, we're all very well aware by now," she said, rolling her eyes.

"God, maybe you really would be better at seducing Potter, you ponce," Draco muttered, ignoring her as he huffed into his breakfast.

Blaise raised one eyebrow at him. "Well, that is just bollocks and you know it. Out of the two of us, I am definitely the less poncey one. Are you forgetting how I spent all of sixth year and half of seventh shagging Daphne? _And _how I was the first of us to get a handjob back in fourth?"

"Who gave you a handjob back in fourth?" Pansy asked curiously, looking intrigued. "Nobody told me this!"

"You don't remember my date to the Yule Ball?" Blaise asked incredulously, seeming outraged that somebody would dare forget what ridiculous girl he took to the Ball when he was fourteen.

"Oh, you mean that one Ravenclaw girl?" Pansy's expression cleared. "I definitely remember what a slag she was, yes."

"A beautiful slag," Blaise nodded with a dreamy grin. "And an older woman."

"She was only one year above us and maybe six months older than you," Draco argued. "Not as much of a brag as you seem to think."

"And yet, it wasn't _you _she was wanking off the night of the Yule Ball, now was it?" Blaise pointed out in a mocking tone.

"And thank god for that," Draco muttered. While he could admit that, yes, the girl Blaise had taken had been pretty, she was in absolutely no way anybody that Draco wanted touching him in such a manner.

"My point is," Blaise continued, pointing at himself and ignoring the blond, "not a ponce. A fact for which all the girls are deliriously grateful."

Draco raised both eyebrows at him. "You mean the same girls you were just telling me all hate our guts?"

"And yet are still hopelessly attracted to me," Blaise smiled, shrugging. "It's a vicious conundrum, one they're forced to struggle with every single day, the poor things."

"You are delusional," Draco declared.

Blaise's smile widened. "Coming from you, Draco, I'll take it."

* * *

The sun was just setting as the three Slytherins left the Great Hall, the sounds of laughing students still eating dinner fading behind them as they strolled in the direction of the dungeons. The day had felt like an eternity and every class had felt like an entire lifetime and Draco wanted nothing more than to relax in the quiet of his dorm room.

They hadn't even made it to the stairs, however, before they were stopped by a familiar voice.

"Malfoy!"

Turning slowly, the three of them watched in surprise as a red-faced Potter approached them, stopping before Draco with a grimace. "Er, hey, Malfoy," he said nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. "Can I, er, talk to you, maybe? For just a minute? Uh, in private?"

"Um," Draco began uncertainly, unsure how to respond. Was this how Potter had felt the previous night when Draco had first approached him out of nowhere?

"It will only take a second," Potter promised, taking one hand out of his pocket to rake through his hair. "Please?"

"Of course you can," Blaise responded in a smooth voice, nudging Draco sharply forward. "You can talk to him for as long as you need to, Potter, his bedtime isn't for hours."

"Er, right," Potter flushed, "okay then. Um, thanks?"

"Come along, Pansy darling, time to leave these two boys to their mysterious conversing," Blaise said cheerfully, linking his arm with hers and pulling her in the direction they had been heading in before Potter had stopped them.

Potter watched them for several moments in bemusement before turning back to Draco and smiling nervously. "Can we talk down here, maybe?" He indicated a smaller corridor branching off from the main hallway and Draco nodded stiffly, gesturing for Potter to lead the way. He could feel his heart racing in his chest as they walked side-by-side in utter silence.

After what felt like ages, they stopped in front of a door that Potter held open for him, and Draco entered to find himself in a small room, one that didn't look to be used for very much. There was a row of unused desks along one wall and a stack of dusty chairs in the corner.

Potter wandered farther into the room, pacing back and forth for a moment and taking a deep breath before turning to Draco. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, staring at Draco with an intensity that made the blond want to simultaneously step closer and step farther away at the same time.

"Sorry?" Draco echoed blankly, feeling dazed from Potter's unblinking stare.

"Yeah, for yesterday," Potter exhaled loudly. "I never should have called you stupid, and I swear I didn't mean it! I just—I dunno, I was in shock, I s'pose. I wasn't expecting you to thank me and I just…handled it badly. If anything, _I'm _the stupid one, not you."

"Do either of us have to be the stupid one?" Draco asked with a gentle smile. Potter was pink-cheeked and fidgety, and it was surprising how sweet he could be when he was nervous.

At the question, a large grin slid across Potter's face. "No, I s'pose not."

"It's fine, Potter, really," Draco said, glad that Potter had approached him to apologize but cursing the fact that Blaise had been right about something. Draco hated when Blaise was right about things—it was unnatural and annoying. "I've said much worse things to you in the past, after all."

"Yeah, but you were _thanking _me," Potter argued, sounding upset once more. "And I offended you like a bloody twat!"

Stepping closer, Draco watched in fascination at the way Potter's eyes widened and breath hitched. "It's fine, Potter," he murmured, standing only inches away and staring into Potter's eyes in a way that he hoped was seductive. God, Draco had no idea what he was doing!

"Good, then, I-I'm glad," Potter stammered with a blush. "That it's fine. Er, um, thanks. For, you know…it being fine, I guess."

Draco continued to gaze at him, wondering what the next best thing to say would be. They had now gotten the gratitude and the apologies out of the way, what else was left to talk about? What else could Draco say to keep Potter interested? How the sodding hell did this whole flirting-seduction-bollocksy sort of business even work?

"Your hair is longer," Potter suddenly blurted, flushing an even darker shade when Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, I've heard that hair does that sometimes when you don't cut it," he drawled, smiling to soften the sarcasm.

"Well, I just meant that I've never seen your hair that long," Potter mumbled. "Why do you wear it differently now? It's not all slicked back like it used to be."

It was now Draco's turn to blush as he raised a hand self-consciously to comb his fingers through the strands covering his forehead. "This was Pansy's idea," he explained awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. "According to her, it's a much less harsh look. She claims it somehow makes me more approachable and much less malicious and bastardy-looking, in her words." Flushing, Draco looked away, wondering why he had explained any of that to Potter. Draco's hair was none of his business!

Potter's lips twitched at the admission. "I like it," he said softly, eyes raking over Draco and looking for a moment as though he was longing to reach out and touch Draco's hair.

"Thank you," Draco said in surprise, voice as quiet as the other boy's had been.

A small smile spread across Potter's face. "I used to wonder why you always combed it back it like that when it looked like it would be so soft and pretty worn loose. I've always been jealous of hair like yours."

"You think my hair is pretty?" Draco asked in amazement, wondering if Potter was somehow taking the same daft potion that Blaise was obviously on, the one clearly making them both spout mad schemes and insane comments, but the brunet seemed more or less sober and sincere.

"Er, yeah, a bit," Potter admitted, flushing crimson. "Is that weird?"

Draco chuckled. "Not as weird as if you didn't think it was pretty. It's bloody gorgeous."

Potter nodded before he could stop himself, smiling shyly even as he blushed again.

"I've always thought that your hair suited you, though," Draco said without thinking, staring up at the wild untamed mess of tousled black strands on Potter's head. Really, hair like that should not be so attractive or endearing. It should be hideous and off-putting and Draco should be feeling indescribably distressed at finding the other boy's hair to be in any way attractive.

_Did I just think of Potter's hair as attractive?_ Draco wondered idly, knowing such a thought really did deserve more panic and much more introspection, but Draco just couldn't focus on anything outside of the way Potter was staring at him.

"You," Potter swallowed, "you do? You think my hair suits me?"

"It could look worse," Draco said haltingly. "I mean, you could be a redhead." He paused to shudder at the thought of Potter with ginger hair. _Gross._ "At least it's a pretty color."

Potter tilted his head as he considered Draco, a bemused smile growing on his lips. "You think the color of my hair is pretty?"

"I'm not admitting to anything that could come back to bite me," Draco declared, unable to stop himself from returning the smile.

"People have called my hair a lot of things, but never pretty," Potter said, the smile in his face turning into a grin.

"Maybe you should start spending more time around people with eyeballs," Draco shrugged, deciding this flirting thing wasn't as difficult as he had first feared. Either that or else Draco was just naturally talented at everything. _I choose the second one_, he decided firmly. _It's definitely the second one. _

At that, Potter laughed, and a curious warmth spread through Draco at the sound. "You mean like you?" he asked shyly, and Draco grinned even as he blushed.

"If you like," he murmured. "I might just be selfless enough to agree to such a thing."

"Are you saying it takes selflessness to spend time with me?"

"Yes," Draco replied automatically with a wide smile.

"Prat," Potter laughed again, leaving Draco feeling inordinately pleased with himself at the sound, "I'm a goddamn delight to be around, everyone says so."

"I don't think you can count Granger and Weasley as 'everyone'."

Potter chuckled, shooting Draco such a warm look that the blond was almost tempted to check over his shoulder just to make sure there wasn't another person standing behind him that was meant to be the real recipient of Potter's fond expression.

"So, does this mean you don't hate me?" Draco suddenly blurted, wondering where the hell the question had come from and feeling horrified as Potter's amused look melted away to be replaced by surprise.

"Of course not," he frowned. "I haven't hated you for a long time, Malfoy."

"Really?" Draco asked in an embarrassingly weak voice, feeling relief surge through him at the answer. He had suspected that Potter didn't hate him, of course, considering the fact that Potter was very obviously in love with him, but it was still a comfort to hear it said aloud.

"Yeah, really," Potter smiled, shifting his weight forward. "And—you don't hate _me_ anymore, right?"

"Only parts of you," Draco returned the smile, the expression widening at the crestfallen look on Potter's face. "That shirt, mostly," Draco gestured down to the awful baggy t-shirt Potter had on, a hideous mustard yellow with a strange twisting lime pattern across the chest. "That's a terrible shirt, Potter. Who the hell picked it out for you?"

Potter flushed, staring down at it reluctantly, and Draco felt just as reluctant to also allow it into his line of sight. "Er, well, it was my cousin's. From forever ago. Back when he was like, fifteen maybe? Fourteen? I dunno. All my clothes used to belong to him until he outgrew them and they were given to me. I keep meaning to go buy new clothes, 'cos I actually have money now, but, I dunno, I always seem to be busy doing other things and there never seems to be any time, and I've never actually ever been clothes shopping for anything other than robes and underwear, so I wouldn't even know where to go or what clothes would look best. I don't actually even know what size I am, to tell you the truth, because none of my cousin's clothing has ever fit me properly. I'm sure that my aunt would have made me wear his old underwear too if that had actually fit, but it's always just been way too big and I think that's the one and only thing she's ever taken pity on me for."

"You were never given any clothing of your own?" Draco asked incredulously, unable to even imagine such a thing. He had heard other students talk about hand-me-downs, of course, but it was a concept he had never truly been able to understand. All of Draco's possessions had always been just his, had only ever belonged to just him, and he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around the concept of sharing clothing with others.

"No," Harry mumbled down to his shoes.

"Well, we need to fix that," Draco said without thinking, appalled that Harry Potter, the eighteen-year-old sodding saviour of the entire bloody world, had never so much as owned his own pair of trousers.

"Do we?" Potter eyed him curiously, but Draco could see the beginnings of a hopeful smile threatening to break across his face.

"Of course," Draco nodded. "I mean, I really don't know anything about Muggle clothing, but I'd be more than happy to accompany you somewhere and help you pick something less hideous out. Because really, Potter, this shirt is dreadful. Your cousin clearly has no taste and you simply can't have someone else's bad taste added to your already-existent Gryffindor lack of taste. That is just too much bad taste for a single person to possess, your head may just explode from the force of it. And _my_ head may just explode from being exposed to it, and I'm afraid that such a thing would be far too unfortunate to allow. So, really, for the sake of both of our heads, you need a new outfit."

A wide, almost wonderous smile lit up Potter's face. "Okay," he said softly. "Yeah, let's do that. I-I mean, I'd like to do that. Together. Er, the two of us."

"Good, then," Draco said, feeling his face heat. God, had he and Potter just made plans to spend real time together? Had they possibly just arranged a…date? "We should do that soon then, so you're not forced to wear any of _this_,"—he fluttered his hands in the direction of Potter's clothes—"any longer than necessary."

"This weekend, maybe?" Potter asked hopefully, that familiar intense look in his eyes now back as he gazed at Draco. "We could Apparate from the village. I mean, we'll have to be sneaky about it and not tell anyone we're leaving Hogsmeade so we don't get in trouble, but…" he ducked his head shyly, "I would really like to do that with you. It sounds fun."

"This weekend," Draco agreed with a smile. "We can talk about the details tomorrow. I'm going to leave it up to you to find out the name of a good shop from Granger or someone and exact directions on how to get there, since I'm mostly just coming along to look pretty and offer my opinion—two things I'm excellent at, mind you—so I'm leaving the actual details up to you. Deal?"

"Yeah, deal," Potter said breathlessly. "I'll, er, just come find you when I have those details sorted then, yeah?"

"Sounds like a solid plan to me, Potter," Draco's smile widened.

"Yeah, okay," Potter stumbled back a step. "I, er, guess I'll go talk to Hermione right now then. And I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," Draco said softly. "We'll talk soon."

With a final shy smile and an awkward half-wave, Potter exited the room and Draco was left staring at the empty door in amazement.

_I have a date with Harry Potter._


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: In which first dates are had, feelings are confessed, kisses are initiated, and Muggle clothing is worn.

(pre-p.s. Just wanna say real quick that I have been absolutely loving all the positive feedback I've been getting so far on the banter between the three Slytherins, and I just wanted to confess before we started that a lot of their conversations in this story are actually loosely based on real-life conversations I've had with my housemates. Haha, the five of us are all incredibly mature and well-mannered human people, if you couldn't tell from the dialogue. The friendship of the Slytherins is more or less inspired by my own friendships with the filthy-minded, foul-mouthed, obscenely profane, hopelessly crass, gin-soaked chain-smoking headbanging dirty bastard metalheads I live with. They are some insane fucking assholes and I just love those cunts to pieces :) And now the story may begin.)

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"I can't believe you actually have a date with Potter," Pansy said for what must surely have been the sixteen-billionth time that week; Draco wished he had thought to keep track.

"Um," Draco raised one eyebrow impatiently, "I think what you mean to say is 'I can't believe Potter is lucky enough to have a date with _Draco_'."

"I don't think that's what I actually meant though," Pansy smirked, and Draco threw a sock at her, wishing it was a dirty one.

"Well _he _definitely thinks so," Draco sniffed, combing his hair for what surely must have been the seventy-third time that day; he wished he had thought to keep track of that one as well. "You should have seen how excited he was when he tracked me down to tell me about the Muggle shop he picked for us."

"Has he really never been clothes shopping before?" Blaise asked incredulously, for what surely must have been the seventeenth time in the last hour; Draco didn't really care about keeping track of that one, to be honest.

Draco turned an impatient gaze on the other boy. "I've already told you a hundred times, _no_."

"Well, I mean, that makes sense and I definitely believe it," Blaise shrugged, "considering the fact that I do have eyeballs and have seen the clothes he wears. Still, though…to be eighteen and never actually own your own clothing? I don't know if it'll ever make sense to me, no matter how many times I hear it."

"Maybe you could get him a haircut too, while you're out," Pansy suggested, reapplying her lipstick in the mirror Draco was meant to be getting ready in after rudely nudging him to the side. "I mean, if you're meant to start dating and start appearing in public together, I think you should go for the full-on makeover and at least make him someone you would _want _to be seen in public with."

"His hair is fine," Draco defended, surprised to find that he actually preferred Harry's hair the way it was—long and unkempt, wild and unmanageable. It gave him an intense, almost casually dangerous sort of air, a sort of careless disregard for his attractiveness that was somehow even more attractive to Draco than extreme fastidiousness in a person. Draco liked how it made him seem as though he honestly could not care what other people thought of him or his appearance, a strangely attractive quality, especially for someone like Draco to find in any way appealing, considering how much of his time he spent worrying about what others thought of his appearance. A small smile curved his lips as he remembered the look on Potter's face when Draco had confessed to finding his hair pretty. It had been such an endearing, almost innocent sort of wonder, as though the boy had never imagined anything like that ever being said to him. It had the annoying effect of making Draco want to find other things to compliment him about, just to bring that pleased expression back to his face.

At Draco's words, a strange look crossed Blaise's face, and he sat up to peer at Draco in silence.

"So what's the whole plan for the day?" he said finally, still looking at Draco oddly, and Draco decided that combing his hair for the seventy-fourth time was much more preferable than looking at Blaise's weird face.

"Well, I'm not actually sure," Draco admitted, elbowing Pansy out of the way so he could fix his hair and adjust his clothing. Draco had borrowed some of Blaise's Muggle clothing that they had picked out together from the entire wardrobe-full that Blaise had purchased the previous summer when he decided to go through a rebellious phase against his mother's strict new husband, who was such an old-fashioned pureblood that even Draco had pitied Blaise, and the blond had grown up with Lucius Malfoy, for fuck's sake. Blaise had chosen a pair of black, almost painfully tight trousers for Draco, as well as a long-sleeved storm-grey shirt, the fabric soft and clingy and making Draco feel uncomfortable even though he liked the look of it on his lean—lean, not skinny, _lean_—frame. The blond was used to loose-fitting robes and clothing with multiple buttons, and this new tight buttonless Muggle clothing still felt odd to him.

"So you don't have anything else planned?" Pansy wondered, nudging Draco back out of the way of the mirror so she could fiddle with her bangs.

"I'm not sure," he repeated, feeling fierce nerves rush through him. Oh god, was he really about to go on a date with Potter? Did shopping even count as a date? What if he and Potter had nothing to talk about? What if it was awkward? What if somebody else thought Potter looked so good in his new clothing that they flirted with the brunet right in front of Draco? Would Potter expect Draco to react, or would he prefer Draco to concede to the surely superior flirting skills of whichever evil Muggle decided Potter was worth flirting with? Fuck, Draco had never been on a real date before! The Yule Ball with Pansy hardly counted!

A sigh reached his ears and he glanced over to find Blaise rummaging through his trunk. "Here," he said as he straightened and crossed the room, depositing a velvet bag in Draco's hand and staring at him as though expecting gratitude.

"Um…" Draco said in confusion, pulling open the strings of the bag to reveal strange coins and a small wad of weird folded paper. "What is this?"

Blaise snorted. "This is called _money_," he said slowly, shaking his head in amusement. "It's some of the Muggle money I had left over last year after all my shopping trips. I assumed that you wouldn't have thought about getting a few Galleons exchanged, and if this really is a date, you need to at least pay for _something_ for Potter. I'm certain that he'll insist on buying his own clothing, but you can take him out to dinner afterwards or buy him a drink or something. I'm sure he'll help you figure out how to use it properly and what the numbers on the paper all mean."

"Oh," Draco said in surprise. He had not even thought about how the money part of the date would work. "Thanks, Blaise."

"Hey, I expect to be paid back for all of this," Blaise said seriously, and Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't mean in Muggle money, pay me back in Galleons, obviously."

"Yes, fine, whatever," Draco dismissed, tucking the small bag into the front pocket of his tight trousers with some difficulty. "How the bloody hell do Muggles keep anything on them in these blasted clothes? There's barely enough room for my cock in these trousers, let alone anything else! I can't even fit my sodding wand in them!" Draco gestured to his left forearm, where his wand was strapped to a holster hidden beneath the long sleeve of his borrowed shirt.

"Please don't talk about your cock being in my trousers," Blaise said with a grimace.

"Don't worry, Blaise," Pansy laughed, "it's just a matter of time before Draco's cock is out of _your _trousers and into Potter's."

The two boys stared at her. "What does that even mean?" Draco finally asked, exchanging a look with Blaise.

"Eh," Pansy shrugged, "I'm not actually sure."

"You do know that people don't have sex with their trousers on, right, Pans?" Blaise smirked, earning a glare from Draco.

"I'm not going to have sex with him, Blaise!" he insisted, feeling flushed at the thought. "Especially on the first bloody date! Merlin, what type of slag do you take me for? I'm not Pansy!"

"You should only be so fucking lucky," she shot back. "In fact, I can't even decide if you would be luckier to be me or to shag me. It's luck either way, as far as I'm concerned."

"What if he kisses me?" Draco suddenly asked, panic pulsing through him at the thought. "Oh god, what if he kisses me in front of _Muggles?_"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "As if kissing in front of Muggles is any different from kissing in front of wizards."

"I've never been around Muggles!" Draco panicked even more—Christ, he had never been to the Muggle world before! What the hell was he doing? He couldn't go to the Muggle world; he had no idea how it worked! He had no idea how to act around Muggles or what he was and was not allowed to say! They were two completely separate worlds and he had no fucking idea what the rules were!

"It's fine, Draco," Blaise said soothingly, but the way he patted Draco on the head felt far too patronizing for the blond. "You'll be with Potter, he was raised in the Muggle world. He won't let you embarrass yourself. Just make sure that you don't say _a single goddamn thing_ against Muggles that could be construed as bigoted. That is a man that does not tolerate intolerance. So just make sure that you are graciousness personified at all times and you'll be fine."

"I already know that, Blaise," Draco huffed. "Of course I'm not going to start insulting Muggles right in front of him, I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Hey, I didn't say you would do it on purpose," Blaise said with a shrug. "But just make sure that you don't spend the entire date comparing the Muggle world to the Magical one and telling Potter how inferior the Muggle world really is. If you can convince him that you've changed and show him that you've become a person now capable of being around Muggles and moving on from childhood prejudices that were instilled in you since birth, Potter will fall in love with you so hard that even Pansy and I will feel it all the way back here at the castle."

"Right," Draco nodded, inhaling several deep breaths. "I can do that; I can be around Muggles. I can speak to Muggles and be courteous. I'm a charming fucking bastard, damn it, I can do this." Draco would be so charming that by the end of the date, Potter would be even more in love with him than he already was.

"What time are you meeting him?" Pansy wondered, checking the time, and Draco panicked again.

"Oh, fuck, I need to leave in just a minute!"

"It's okay, Draco," Blaise soothed, grabbing him by the upper arms and speaking in a quiet voice. "It's going to be okay, I promise. You can do this, just remember to keep breathing. Potter already likes you, all you have to do is make him laugh and don't be too sarcastic and it won't even be a challenge to get him to fall for you."

"Right," Draco said, closing his eyes as he focused on breathing. "Right. I can be funny. I _am _funny, damn it. And charming. And witty. And definitely able to be around Muggles."

"Exactly," Blaise agreed, moving away from Draco and tossing something heavy at him. Draco caught it on instinct, opening his eyes and glancing down to find a black mass of strange fabric in his hands.

"Is this dragonhide?" he asked curiously, holding the thing up to look at it more fully.

"No," Blaise answered, "it's a leather jacket. It's their version of dragonhide, I suppose, but made from a different animal. Apparently, Muggle girls can't resist a bloke in a leather jacket, and I'm assuming that it's the same for bent Muggle blokes as well. Try it on, let's see how it looks."

Slipping the jacket on, Draco turned to eye himself in the mirror, surprised at how well the thing fit, even if it was a bit restricting. "It looks good," he commented in surprise, turning to see himself from every angle. "What animal is it made from?"

Blaise shrugged. "I don't know, a cow or a kangaroo or something, who knows. The point is, it looks good."

"Damn," Pansy agreed, "you might just be on to something there, Blaise. Now _I_ want a bloke in a leather jacket."

Blaise grinned. "Potter's going to wet his fucking knickers when he sees you dressed like this, Draco, watch. Bet you a Galleon he won't even be able to speak for the first three minutes. And bet you another Galleon his eyes are going to pop right out of his head before you even say hi."

Draco blushed a little as he returned the grin. "I'd definitely wet my own knickers if I saw me dressed like this for a date with myself."

"What?" Pansy asked, sounding puzzled. "I'm not even sure if I know what that means."

"It means exactly how it sounds," Draco sighed. _Poor simple Pansy._

"It means that Draco's planning on wanking over himself later," Blaise told her with a grin, and Draco glared. "Just make sure you take the jacket off before you wank about it, yeah? If you return my clothing with any spunk on them, I shall be very upset with you."

Draco glared harder.

"What if it's Potter's spunk he gets covered in?" Pansy snickered. "I thought that was the whole point of the plan."

"I already told you!" Draco protested, "I am not going to shag Potter on the first fucking date!"

"Not on the first one, huh?" Blaise laughed. "Which date do you plan on fucking him then?"

"I hate the both of you," Draco declared, glaring at the other two as the prats continued to laugh. "And I'm leaving right now. And I might even find better friends and never come back. And that will show you."

"Can I have your things if you never come back?" Pansy asked, in a voice far too casual for Draco's threat of never returning. She should be on her knees weeping at the very thought of him never returning, the heartless bitch!

"Touch them and die," he warned her, fixing his hair one last time before casting a breath freshening charm and spritzing some of his most expensive cologne on himself. _And Potter better fucking appreciate that_, Draco thought. He certainly did not use that particular brand of cologne for everyone.

"Good luck, Draco," Blaise grinned, lounging back on his bed. "Have fun in the Muggle world. Try to refrain from committing any genocide, yeah?"

"Have fun snogging Potter," Pansy smirked, and Draco rolled his eyes with a huff as he turned away. Lord, his friends could be irritating.

As he strolled from the common room and began the trek upstairs to meet Potter by the Entrance Hall, Draco felt his palms grow damp as his heart began to beat faster and faster with every step he took. Oh, Merlin in a fucking thong, was he really about to do this? _Not unless I have a heart attack first_, he thought wryly as his heart rate sped up even more.

Knees trembling as he drew closer to the main door, Draco gulped as he saw Potter standing up ahead, pacing nervously and appearing fidgety. The brunet froze the moment he noticed Draco walking toward him. His eyes grew wide and for a moment, Draco was afraid that they really were going to pop right out of his head, which would have been regretful. Potter's eyes were too pretty to end up on the floor. Plus, Draco would have had to pay Blaise a Galleon and that was just not on.

"Hi, Potter," Draco greeted shyly, coming to a halt less than an arm span away from the other boy.

Potter said nothing for over a minute, simply staring, eyes raking over Draco with unmistakable heat. "Hi," he finally said in a breathless voice. "I—hi. You look…nice." His face flushed red as he dropped his gaze to the floor. "I-I mean, you know, I've just never seen you wear Muggle clothes before. They look…really nice on you. Are they yours?"

"Thank you," Draco felt one corner of his mouth pull up in a smile. "And no, they're not. They're Blaise's, but I figured if we're going to the Muggle world, I may as well at least try to blend in."

"Right," Potter nodded, but Draco thought he looked a bit crestfallen. Had he been hoping Draco would show up in robes and make a fool of himself in public? "So, er, your boyfriend doesn't mind, then, you coming shopping with me?"

"Boyfriend?" Draco's forehead crinkled in confusion. "You mean Pansy?"

Potter barked a sharp laugh but his eyes still looked a bit sad. "No, I didn't mean Pansy. I meant Zabini."

"_Blaise?_" This time Draco's forehead crinkled in disgust. "He fucking wishes! Gross, Potter! That's like me asking you if you're shagging the Weasel!"

Potter laughed again. "I can't tell if you mean Ron or an actual weasel, but either way, _ew_."

"Good, now you understand the disgust I'm feeling at such a question," Draco informed him, nose wrinkling again at the thought of him being involved with Blaise.

"Well, I just—" Potter flushed, raking a hand through his hand as he shifted his weight between feet, "you two are always together, and I saw him kiss you in the Great Hall the other day, and…"

Draco shuddered, clenching his eyes shut at the horrid memory. "Urgh, don't remind me, Potter. That was an extremely traumatizing moment in my life, one that I've been actively trying to repress since it happened." He opened his eyes to find Potter looking sheepish. "So no, you're wrong, Blaise and I aren't together. He's the most heterosexual thing on the planet, to hear him tell it, so I don't really think my tits are impressive enough for him, to be frank."

"And what about you then?" Potter asked, a small grin lifting one corner of his mouth. "If he's the straightest thing in the world?

Draco opened his mouth to inform Potter that Blaise was only the second straightest thing in the world while Draco was still alive, but then closed it as he realized that he was meant to actually be on a date with Potter, who was obviously a man. And not a bad-looking one either. _But of course I'm straight_, Draco thought vehemently. Just because Blaise's stupid plan involved Draco seducing a man didn't mean that Draco was necessarily _into _men, right? It just meant that Blaise came up with stupid plans that had no actual bearing on reality.

"Erm…" Draco struggled to find a good enough answer to what was undoubtedly one of the most difficult questions he had ever been asked. "Well…I'm…"

"It's all right if you don't want to answer that," Potter said quickly, "that was a bit of a personal question, sorry."

"No, it's fine," Draco allowed, deciding on an answer he hoped would satisfy the brunet. "I just…don't particularly have a label for it. I'm not sure what word would fit best, I suppose, but…" he took a deep breath, wondering why he was so nervous about telling such a definite lie, "I don't base my attractions on gender. I'm attracted to what I'm attracted to, Potter, I don't limit myself or compartmentalize pleasure or persons. There's beauty everywhere, is there not?"

Damn. Draco knew for a fact that he was talking absolute bollocks and even he almost believed himself. Pride rushed through him as he smugly decided what a golden answer that really had been—it certainly made him sound like a very modern, very accepting sort of bloke.

Potter stared at him. "That's…not the answer I was expecting, to be honest. I don't think I've ever heard a Slytherin say something like 'there's beauty everywhere'."

Deciding the best way out of the strange situation would be to flirt his way free, Draco stepped closer, until he was only inches away from the other boy, peering up at him through golden eyelashes. "Well, I pity the ones who can't see the beauty in unexpected places."

Potter's breath caught as he stared at Draco, and Draco felt both terrified and smug at the way Potter's gaze kept falling to his lips. "I know what you mean," he agreed quietly, eyes searching Draco's face.

Draco cleared his throat. "Shall we get going then? I'll admit that I'm curious as to where we're headed."

Potter smiled widely. "I still can't believe you're willingly about to step foot into the Muggle world."

"What can I say, Potter?" Draco returned the smile. "I am a changed man."

"Yeah," the brunet said quietly, eyes once again studying Draco's face with a frightening intensity. "Yeah, you are."

And at Potter's obvious approval, Draco couldn't help the warm rush of pride that washed through him.

* * *

"I can't believe you just talked me into spending that much money on clothes," Potter stated, shaking his head with a grin. "I have never in my life spent that much money at one given time before."

"You needed a whole entire new wardrobe, Potter," Draco shook his head right back at the brunet. "You had no choice but to purchase that much. And now we have the extra special delight of burning all that hideous clothing you used to wear."

"Well, I mean, I could still wear some of it…" Potter protested, and Draco shook his head even harder.

"Burn it," he insisted. "Seriously. We're doing that the moment we get back to the castle."

"We are?" Potter looked suddenly delighted at the prospect of burning his old clothing. "I would've thought you'd be sick of my company by now."

"Who said I wasn't?" Draco smirked. "Maybe I just like burning things."

"Prat," Potter smiled, eyes glimmering. "I already told you, I'm delightful company."

Draco said nothing, only smiled back, sipping at his water as they waited for their food to arrive.

"I can't believe how much fun today has been, actually," Potter confessed shyly, staring down at the table. "I never imagined clothes shopping could actually be fun, and I never thought you and I could spend so much time around each other without a fist fight happening."

"There's still time, if you'd like to relive old times," Draco teased lightly, cursing himself for the way he couldn't help but smile at Potter like some sappy girl. Christ, what was the brunet doing to him? "You can punch me in the face and I can break your nose."

"Fun days, right?" Potter grinned ruefully, but there was a shadowed cast to his eyes that Draco did not like.

"I think I much prefer these ones," he said quietly, and the shadows fell from Potter's eyes as he nodded.

"Definitely these ones."

They were interrupted by the arrival of their food and they spent several minutes focusing on eating, both stealing glances at one another every so often. Draco was surprised at how good the food was—who knew Muggles could actually do something right? Maybe they weren't as helpless and barbaric as Draco had always assumed them to be. He and Potter chatted lightly as they ate, commenting on the clothing Potter had bought and what Draco thought of the Muggle world, answers he was always extra careful wording.

When the bill came, Draco surprised Potter by offering to pay.

"With what?" Potter chuckled. "They don't take Galleons here, you know."

Draco shot him a withering look. "I'm very well aware of that fact. I have Muggle money, of course."

"_What?_" Potter appeared downright shocked, and Draco couldn't help but laugh at the sight. "Where did you get Muggle money? I didn't even know you knew what Muggle money was!"

"I didn't say I did," Draco shrugged, "I just said I have some."

Potter gave him a strange, complicated look. "I must be dreaming," he finally declared. "None of this is even real, is it? This is all happening in my head and any second I'm going to wake up."

"Do you dream about me often?" Draco asked teasingly, curiously, and more than a bit seriously, the smile on his face growing at the sight of Potter's blush.

"I'm not admitting to anything that could come back to bite me," Potter said in a light voice, cheeks still red and lips still spread in a smile.

Draco took that to mean _yes, of course I dream of you, Draco, every single night, because you're the smartest and most handsome and most seductive being I've ever seen in my life and I'm madly and passionately in love with you and want nothing more than to pledge my eternal love for you and remain by your side for the rest of forever. _Draco was well aware of what Potter was really thinking, even if the Gryffindor hadn't been brave enough to voice the impassioned declaration aloud. Obviously in the face of such overwhelming love, Potter couldn't help but be nervous, and Draco could forgive Potter his reluctance to spout his—not so—secret heartfelt proclamations about how constantly consumed he was with romantic thoughts of Draco. It was certainly understandable, and Draco couldn't help but return Potter's shy smile as a reward for the brunet's clear adoration. They stared at one another for an entire century, and Draco began to feel a frantic need to break both the eye contact and the silence and accomplished both by reaching down to wrestle the velvet moneybag from his stupidly tight trousers.

Opening the bag, Draco pulled out the folded stack of strange paper. "Be useful now, Potter, and help me figure out this blasted Muggle currency."

Smiling, Potter leaned forward to help him, explaining what the different papers all meant.

"I don't understand why they would use something so fragile for money," Draco commented as they rose from their seats and prepared to leave the restaurant. "I feel as though I would constantly be worried it would get torn or damaged or wet or something. Gold is just so much more substantial, is it not?"

"Yeah, I s'pose," Potter grinned, hurrying ahead to pull the door open for Draco, who stared in surprise for a moment before offering him a genuine smile of thanks; had anybody ever held a door open for him before? "But paper money is a _lot_ lighter and easier to carry around. And it's not as delicate as you seem to think."

"But how do you feel rich if one side of your body isn't always weighed down by a ridiculously heavy bag of gold?" Draco joked, feeling pride rush through him every time Potter chuckled.

Silence fell between them as they strolled down the Muggle street together, the buildings surrounding them lit with strange artificial light that made the windows glow yellow and jewel-bright, making the distant horizon appear strung with a winking gold necklace of glimmering illumination. Dusk had settled softly over everything, leaving just a sliver of the orange sun still peeking over the far hills. The sky was slowly fading from butterscotch to rose pink to deep cobalt like a painted lake of multicolored ripples stretched above their heads, reflected over the world and making everything appear softer somehow. Draco wasn't sure if they were headed anywhere specific or simply walking, but he certainly was not about to suggest they head back to the castle. It felt…nice, to walk down an anonymous Muggle street where nobody knew their names, where not everybody who passed gazed at Potter with unabashed adoration and Draco with undisguised scorn.

Glancing over, Draco watched as Potter's arm swung slightly as he walked, and he couldn't help but look down at the hand attached to it. Draco thought back to Blaise's words about holding hands with Potter in public, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to walk down a street like the one they were on holding hands with another person.

If only Draco was brave enough to find out.

"So," Potter's voice broke the stillness of the moment, startling the blond; the world had seemed so quiet despite the bustle of the noisy evening around them.

"So," Draco prodded, stepping closer to the other boy as another one of those damned deadly Muggle contraptions with four wheels sped past one side of him. Obviously, the evil Muggle operating it did that on purpose—it had been entirely too close to be an accident. Damn it, even the Muggles wanted to see him dead. _What did I ever do to them?_ Draco thought crossly but then frowned as he pondered the question. _Well, other than scorn them and belittle them and nearly get them all either enslaved or wiped out by following a genocidal maniac with no nose who liked to spend his time hissing at his giant pet snake. _But Draco was clearly no longer that person and it wasn't fair that even the Muggles wanted to keep seeing him punished.

"So," Potter continued with a soft smile, maneuvering around Draco to take the side closest to the road and the strange four-wheeled death traps still zooming past him. He nudged the blond further toward safety and Draco couldn't help but stare in surprise, feeling his insides soften at the kind, unexpected gesture. Potter really was one hundred percent gentleman, wasn't he? "I have to ask you a question."

"All right," Draco allowed cautiously, feeling sudden fear grip him at the realization that Potter obviously did not consider this to be a date at all—he was only there to question Draco because he thought the blond was up to something evil. Draco felt his stomach drop in disappointment, wondering why he was so upset. It had never even been a real date anyway—Draco really was up to something evil. Potter had every right to be suspicious because Draco really was still every inch the manipulative bastard he had always been told he was. "What is it, Potter?" he sighed wearily, preparing himself to be yelled at, maybe even shoved in front of one of the terrifying Muggle boxes speeding past Potter's right side to be flattened into an attractive porcelain pancake and left to rot on the dirty black ground of an unknown Muggle street.

"Is this…" Potter hesitated, taking a moment to steel himself, "I mean…what is this?"

Draco stared at him in confusion. "Well," he said slowly, gesturing around the two of them with one arm, "this is a Muggle street. And those are Muggles," he pointed at several strangers passing, "and those things are dangerous Muggle weapons." He indicated the strange windowed boxes on wheels that he was still convinced were using magic to move that fast. He had always known Muggles were such liars—not having magic, honestly.

"They're called cars," Potter grinned, "and they're not weapons."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Look, Potter, I know that you were raised in the Muggle world, but you clearly don't know what you're talking about if you can't see that those things were clearly designed to kill. I mean, look how fast they're going! If I pushed you out in front of one, you would be flattened!" And what a horrid mental image that was; Draco couldn't help but shiver at the thought.

"Yes, but that's not what they're made for." The grin had not faded from Potter's face; if anything, it had only grown wider. "They're like…the Muggle version of traveling brooms, I suppose. They're only meant to get Muggles from one place to another quickly."

Draco stared suspiciously between the brunet and the dangerous _cars, _pondering what a strange word it was. Muggles were so bloody odd. "If they really wanted to get places quickly, they shouldn't have been born Muggles."

Potter barked a sharp laugh. "I don't really think they chose to be born that way so much as that's just how it ended up happening."

Draco shrugged. "Well, they shouldn't have chosen to be born with such misfortune."

"I don't think they're as miserable as you seem to think."

Draco shrugged again. "I suppose there's something to be said for bliss in the face of ignorance."

"We're getting a bit off topic here, Malfoy," Potter said wryly.

"Oh, was there a topic?" Draco asked in surprise, genuinely having forgotten what they had been discussing before the matter of Muggles was brought up. "I thought we were just commenting on the world and the general state of things."

"No, I…" Potter once again looked nervous. "I asked you a question."

"About Muggles?"

Potter sighed, but Draco could see him fighting a smile. "You were the one who brought up Muggles, Malfoy, my question had nothing to do with them."

"Did it not?" Draco thought back.

"No." A smile flashed across Potter's face before vanishing to be replaced by worry. "I asked you, you know, what this is."

Draco's nose scrunched up in confusion. He remembered now why he had brought up the subject of Muggles. "Is this not a Muggle street?"

"No!" Potter paused before he laughed ruefully at himself. "I mean, yes, it is. Obviously. But I was talking about _this_," he gestured between the two of them. "Is this…was this…is this a—date?" As the final word left his mouth, his face turned bright red, and Draco felt his own heart stop dead in his chest.

Was Potter really asking him to confirm that the day had indeed been intended as a date? Could something like this even really count as a date if neither of the participants had known or been certain about just what specifically it was?

"Would you like it to be?" Draco asked haltingly, afraid to answer the question.

"I—" A fierce blush spread across Potter's face, "I…maybe wouldn't _not _like it to be."

"Um…" Draco had to take a second to try to understand the convoluted workings of Potter's mind.

"I-I mean," Potter stammered, running a hand through his hair, "Hermione said it _might _be a date. And Ron said you were probably planning on luring me somewhere away from the castle to kill me. But—but we had fun today, didn't we? And if you're really not involved with Zabini, then…"

"You have to stop saying gross things," Draco frowned, "it makes it hard to concentrate on anything else whilst being too preoccupied fighting the urge to be sick all over everything in sight."

Potter grinned, face still red. "Sick at the thought of dating me or at the thought of being involved with Zabini?"

"Definitely the second one," Draco declared, cheeks pinking at the realization that he had basically said outright that the thought of dating Potter was not a disgusting thought. "I mean, you act like the entire world isn't dying to date you, Potter."

"Well, but…" Potter's face fell. "That's not why you're here though, is it? Just because of my name?"

The two questions made Draco drop his eyes to the ground in sudden burning shame, feeling guilt tear through his gut with the force of an angry hex. Oh god, that was exactly why Draco was there. He should confess. He should confess everything to Potter and then apologize profusely for being such a wanker and then plead bitterly for his life.

_But what if he never speaks to you again? _a voice whispered in Draco's mind, and Draco felt another slash of pain rip through him at the thought of Potter's angry, hurt expression, at the thought of Potter vanishing without a word and never again so much as glancing in Draco's direction.

No, he couldn't confess the truth to Potter, not if it would mean Potter turning his back on Draco like Draco so rightly deserved. Draco was far too Slytherin and far too selfish for such honesty.

"I'm here…" his brain scrambled for a good enough lie and decided instead to settle on a half-truth, "I'm here because I want to be."

"Yeah?" Potter asked in a hopeful voice, and Draco tried his best to swallow the guilt still rising in his throat.

"Yeah," Draco nodded uncomfortably. "But I'm not sure if you can really count clothes shopping as a date, you know."

"We had dinner," Potter grinned, sounding happy. "That you paid for."

"Well, I mean, I am wearing Muggle clothes for you," Draco allowed, "so that obviously has significance that should not simply be overlooked or ignored."

"Yeah, you are wearing Muggle clothes," Potter murmured, and Draco shivered at the look in Potter's eye as he raked his gaze over Draco's entire body. "I've tried to imagine you in Muggle clothes before, you know. But I never thought they would look like…"

"Like what?" Draco asked self-consciously, wondering if the trousers were too tight and looked ridiculous or if the supposed irresistible attractiveness of the leather jacket was really not so irresistible or attractive after all.

"Like…you know," Potter mumbled, gesturing at Draco as though that explained anything.

"What?" Now Draco needed to know. "Sexy, ridiculous, disgusting? _What?"_

Potter laughed a strange sort of strangled laugh. "Definitely not the last one. And definitely not ridiculous."

"Well, that's good then," Draco said cautiously, still feeling self-conscious.

Potter reached out to grab his shoulder, halting the two of them in the middle of the dusky Muggle sidewalk as he gazed at Draco with the classic trademark intensity that had come to be associated with Harry Potter. Nobody could do intense like Harry bloody Potter—the world's reigning King of Unmatched Intensity.

Draco shivered.

"Are you cold?" Potter asked in concern, appearing as though he was half a second away from taking off his own jacket to offer to Draco, who shook his head profusely. No number of jackets would be able to stop the shudders that seemed to run through him every time Potter's green eyes looked at him in such a way, as if Draco was the only thing in the entire world worth looking at.

"Look, I just…" Potter said without warning, sighing loudly and raking a hand through his hair. Draco noted absently that his fingers were trembling and his face was red. "Hermione told me I should just be upfront with you and tell you how I feel. And then Ron told me I should be upfront with you and punch you in the face. But his advice was stupid so I really think it's Hermione's that I should be focusing on."

"Right," Draco said slowly, glad to hear that Potter was not planning on punching him. It was always a good thing to not be punched; Draco loved not being punched. Not being punched was right up at the top of his "all-time world favorites list", right alongside being alive and not being imprisoned. "Well, you know, that's good. If this really is a date, I feel as though being punched might just kill the mood. Unless it was an angry-violent-punching mood you were aiming for."

Potter's lips twitched. "No, definitely no punching," he promised. "But I, er, did want to tell you…I mean, Hermione told me to tell you, and she's usually always right and she's definitely smarter than me, and _definitely _smarter than Ron, so she's the one I really should listen to, and I suppose I'm just too much of a goddamn Gryffindor not to at least _try _to tell you, and—"

"Tell me what, Potter?" Draco sighed in exasperation. Potter's babbling could certainly be endearing, but Draco was feeling far too anxious to allow it to run its natural course. They could be standing there on that darkening sidewalk all night if he didn't put a stop to it now.

"That I—" Potter's face was positively on fire now, "that I—I like you. I-I mean, I want this to be a date. If you want it to be a date. But if you don't, then, you know, that's fine too. I promise I won't decide to punch you if you decide right now that you'd rather not spend time with me after knowing about my—" he swallowed, "my _feelings_." The embarrassed, distasteful way he said the word made Draco laugh, although he regretted it immediately when Potter's expression turned hurt. "Right. I should probably be done humiliating myself now. Sorry for making this awkward. And, you know, thanks for dinner."

"Wait!" Draco snatched at his wrist. Was Potter really about to just leave like that? What kind of sodding Gryffindor was he? "You didn't even give me a chance to respond!"

"Oh, right." Potter's nose scrunched up as he realized that Draco was right. "So, erm, what is your response then?"

"Well…" Draco trailed off as he realized that he did not actually have any idea how to respond. Maybe he should have just let Potter run away; surely anything was better than being left to flounder uselessly the way Draco now was. "I…you really like me?"

Silently, Potter nodded, eyes dropping down to rest on his shoes before flicking back up to meet Draco's gaze.

"Why?"

The entire street seemed to go quiet. Draco wasn't sure why he had asked that question—he couldn't even remember thinking the question. But now that it had been asked, he found that he really did want an answer. Why the hell would Harry Potter ever willingly admit to having feelings for Draco Malfoy, and why the hell would he ever feel those feelings in the first place? It didn't make any sense. It made less sense than anything else ever had in Draco's nonsensical life—and he had had a noseless bigoted tyrant living in his fucking home, spending most of his time conversing with a giant snake, for Christ's sake!

No, Draco just could not understand it.

"I'm not really sure," Potter answered quietly, still swinging his gaze between Draco's face and the ground. "But I know that I do. Do you really need a reason? I mean, why does anybody like another person?"

"Potter, you have far more reasons to dislike me than to like me," Draco said, turning away. "I'm trying to believe that you're being genuine, but…I'm not sure I actually can believe it when you take our past into consideration."

"What if…" Potter hesitated for a moment before continuing, "what if I told you that I've liked you for a while?"

That got Draco's attention. His head snapped back toward Potter so quickly it hurt his neck. "_What? _What does even mean? How long is a while?"

"Er…" Potter flushed as he raised one hand to rake through his wild hair. "Well, I'm not sure when it actually started, but…sixth year, I suppose? Maybe the end of fifth? I mean—" he hurried to continue at the sight of Draco's mouth dropping open in shock, "don't get me wrong, I did genuinely hate you. Even at the same time I was…" his blush darkened alarmingly, "even at the same time I was, you know—" he looked absolutely mortified, "attracted to you. But then…"

"What changed?" Draco prodded, desperate to hear the end of the story.

"It was the bathroom," Potter whispered, eyes sliding shut.

"The _bathroom?"_ Draco couldn't help the unexpected anger in his voice. "You started to develop feelings for me the same day you tried to fucking _kill _me?!"

"No!" Potter's eyes snapped open as a horrified expression crossed his face. "No, that's not how it happened! I found that spell in a book and all it said was that it was for enemies, I had no idea what it did! I honestly don't even know why I used it! There were a hundred other spells I could have used, but…but when you started trying to hit me with the Cruciatus, I just…I dunno, it just happened! I'm sorry, Draco, I should never have used it and I should never have followed you into that stupid bathroom in the first place!"

Draco stared at him in silence for what felt like a thousand painful heartbeats. "It's fine, Potter," he said finally, unable to remain upset at the brunet when he cheated by using Draco's first name as he stood there looking like the world's most remorseful puppy, if dogs were actually capable of expressing remorse. "I'm—" Draco took a deep breath to prepare himself for the agonizing and torturous ordeal of apologizing to another person, "I'm sorry as well for what I did." He released the breath, grateful to find that he had survived the apology intact and surely only grown stronger from the difficult and trying experience. "But I don't understand. Why would that incident lead you to start having feelings for me?"

"Well…" Potter turned away, staring down the street into the far distance, "can we keep walking?"

The question was unexpected and Draco didn't know what to say.

"I think this will be a bit easier if I'm moving," the other boy explained in a quiet voice. "Talking about this sort of stuff…it's hard for me to do while I'm standing still, you know?"

"Yeah," Draco agreed, feeling a similar sort of restless itch in his limbs.

They set off down the sidewalk once more, the pavement cast in soft yellow from the glowing lamps above their heads. The sun had long sunk out of sight and the butterscotch gold of the sky had faded fully into a deep azure, like a vast ocean stretched above their heads, and Draco glanced up, wondering what sort of strange creatures could be found in its bottomless depths.

"So," Potter began, and Draco returned his gaze back to the world around them. "So, I—er, I was—"

"You were answering my question," Draco reminded him, hands buried in the pockets of his borrowed leather jacket.

"Right." Potter sounded about as uncomfortable as Draco felt. "I, um…"

"I asked you how the incident in the bathroom led to your supposed feelings."

Potter frowned. "They really are real, Malfoy. I would never lie to someone about something like that."

Draco said nothing, ignoring the guilt as he simply waited for Potter to finally answer the question.

"I had never seen you cry like that," he blurted, and Draco halted in shock.

"What the hell does that even mean?" he asked in confusion. "It was my _crying_ that you found attractive?" Christ, just what kind of dirty pervert was Harry Potter? What the hell had the Muggles who raised him done to him?

"No!" Potter shouted, biting his lip as he dropped his gaze and continued walking, and Draco had no choice but to catch up. "It was…you were…I had never seen you like that before, Draco. Ever. I'd seen you angry and upset and furious and afraid, but never…never like _that_. It just…it changed how I saw you. It changed everything about how I saw you. It somehow…made it easier to reconcile my existing attraction to you, I suppose, once I was able to start seeing you as an actual person with actual real feelings. And watching you bleed out all over the floor like that…" he swallowed heavily, refusing to look at Draco. "It was awful. It was one of the worst moments of my entire life. I couldn't stop thinking about it. And before it happened, I never would have guessed how upset it would have made me to think of you nearly dying. And that I had nearly been the one to kill you. But it did. And that's when I started realizing that…maybe physical attraction wasn't the only thing I felt for you. I just couldn't hate you anymore after that day."

"You really like me?" Draco still wasn't sure if he could believe it, but Potter seemed so embarrassed and sincere that it must be true.

He shrugged, face still red. "Why do you think I couldn't just let you die in the fire like that? I would never have risked my life going back for Crabbe."

"I never wanted to actually take you to the Dark Lord, you know," Draco blurted, needing Potter to understand what had really happened that day. "When we were in the Room of Hidden Things. I just wanted my wand back, and Crabbe and Goyle would never have gone with me if they didn't think there was going to be some sort of reward in it for them. They didn't really like me very much at that point, but I knew I had absolutely no chance of ever facing the three of you alone and actually succeeding, so I told them that's why we were there. That's why Crabbe kept trying to kill you, the stupid idiot. He and Goyle both thought that's why we were there, but it wasn't. I just wanted my wand, Potter."

A tiny smile lifted the corners of Potter's mouth. "Well, that's a relief," he said, sounding much less upset.

"God, how did we even get started talking about such horrible things?" Draco asked sarcastically, praying the conversation would return to less painful topics.

"What, you mean feelings?" Potter grinned, bumping Draco's shoulder, and Draco couldn't help but grin back.

"Exactly. Horrible things."

"You never answered my question, you know," Potter said, and Draco turned to him with a puzzled look. "About whether or not this is a date."

"Ah." Draco still didn't know how to respond, and sort of wished that Potter had forgotten all about the stupid unanswerable question. Honestly though, the needy git. But in order for Blaise's idiotic plan to work, Draco really did need to reply in the affirmative. After all, the whole plan hinged on both of them admitting to dating one another. "Well, I'm not sure if we can really consider this a date," he said slowly, wondering how Potter would react to what he was about to say at the same time he was terrified of saying such a thing.

"Why not?" Potter sounded confused and looked hurt, and Draco forced himself to continue.

"Because…" he took a deep breath, "don't dates always include a kiss? Isn't that…" he paused to blush, "isn't that sort of a requirement for a date?" Not that Draco would know, of course, not having been on an actual real date before. He had only ever kissed a grand total of two people, not counting Blaise during a game of truth-or-dare, but Draco had been trying his very hardest to repress that particular memory for years. Willingly, however, he had only ever kissed Pansy, several times throughout fifth and sixth years, and then Tracey twice during seventh year. God, what if Potter took the question as some sort of invitation to kiss Draco? What if it really _was _an invitation to kiss Draco? What if Draco was the world's worst kisser? What if Potter kissed him and decided it was gross and then threw up all over the blond? What if—

"Yeah," Potter said in an odd voice, pulling Draco to a stop. "It is a requirement, isn't it? And I think we really should follow all the rules if we're going to count today as a date."

"Right," Draco nodded. "Nobody follows rules better than the two of us, after all."

At that, Potter chuckled. "No, they definitely don't. I practically invented rule following."

"Just like I invented kindness and good manners," Draco grinned, and Potter laughed.

"Nobody does rule-following and good manners better than the two of us." As he spoke, Potter began to shift closer and closer, and Draco felt frozen in his emerald stare, the intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his proximity.

"Are you going to keep being sarcastic, Potter," Draco murmured, "or are you going to kiss me?" Some distant part of his mind wondered just when exactly he had become such an expert in faked flirting, while some other even more distant part of his mind wondered how much of the flirting was actually fake, but most of his mind was taken up with thoughts of what Potter would taste like, as well as fear at the thought of actually kissing Harry Potter. Oh, please Merlin, let Draco be a good kisser!

"I could be talented enough to do both at the same time, you don't know," Potter said softly, leaning in even closer, and Draco felt himself sway closer in response.

"Just stop talking already," Draco demanded, feeling frustrated at both his own confusion and the serious and extreme lack of kissing that has currently happening. Why was there so little kissing in his life at that moment?

Potter grinned. "Who knew impatience could be so endearing?"

"Christ, Potter, just shut up," Draco breathed, deciding that Potter's stupid talking had gone on long enough. What sort of idiot resisted a kiss from Draco after Draco had already given them permission?

Well, if Potter was going to insist on acting like a moron, then Draco would simply have to take matters into his own hands. Fingers trembling, he reached up to tangle one hand in Potter's onyx hair as he wrapped the other around the back of Potter's neck and tugged him forward; Potter gasped in the instant before their mouths met.

And then they were kissing. And everything in Draco's life was amazing.

Potter hummed in the back of his throat as he wrapped one arm around Draco's waist and pulled him closer; his right hand settled over Draco's collarbone as he sucked on Draco's lower lip, effectively trapping it between his own, but Draco was more than fine with it being trapped there. A breeze stirred Draco's hair, and he shivered at the excitement of standing on a public street where anyone could see them, kissing another boy. It was not something he had ever dreamed of or planned on doing, but now that it was happening, it was strangely exciting—possibly the most exciting thing to ever happen to anybody in the whole entire world, possibly even since the very creation of the whole entire world.

Draco was kissing Harry Potter. And even more exciting than that, Harry Potter was kissing Draco back.

What could have been five minutes or five centuries later, they separated, breathing heavily and staring at one another in surprise.

"Wow," Draco whispered, hoping Potter had not heard the single syllable, because Draco sure as hell had not meant to actually say it aloud.

"Yeah," Potter agreed, and Draco cursed Potter's stupidly good hearing. Why couldn't his hearing have been as poor as his eyesight? Potter tilted his head and smiled widely, his eyes dropping down the length of Draco's body and back up. "Have I told you yet how fucking hot you look in that goddamn jacket?"

Momentarily stunned speechless, Draco shook his head.

"Well, you do," Potter told him, still smiling. "You should never give it back to Blaise."

"Done," Draco agreed, liking anything that made Potter look at him like that, with such heat in his eyes.

"I still can't believe this is actually happening," Potter said quietly, and Draco couldn't help but agree with that one too.

"Now that we've had our kiss, what happens next?" Draco hoped it would be more kissing; that would be an acceptable thing to follow this first current round of kissing with. Potter-kissing might possibly even take the top of his "favorite things ever" list, right alongside being alive, and maybe even more than being imprisoned. Draco might possibly even take being punched if it meant he could keep kissing Potter whenever he liked.

"I dunno," Potter smiled. "It's getting pretty dark and I think people might be staring. Maybe we should go back to the castle."

"Right," Draco grinned. "We still have your old disgusting wardrobe to burn."

Potter shook his head in amusement. "Are you serious about that? You're really going to make me burn all my old clothes?"

Draco shrugged. "Let this be a lesson to you to take me seriously. You have all your new purchases with you, yes?"

Nodding, Potter patted his jacket pocket, where all his new purchases had been magically shrunk enough to fit.

"Well, then," Draco smiled, feeling reckless and bold as he leaned forward for one last stolen kiss that Potter barely had time to return. "Let's go become arsonists."

Potter laughed nervously. "Um, maybe we should save something like that for our second date. Give us something exciting to look forward to."

"Second date?" Draco heard his breath catch. A second date? Potter wanted a second date with Draco? And not only wanted it but was apparently already planning it.

It had worked—the plan had worked. Potter was even more in love with Draco than he had been before the date and was now actively planning a future for the two of them. It seemed that Draco really was every inch the champion flirter he knew he could be. After all, he had tricked Harry Potter into falling hopelessly and irreversibly in love with him—surely that made the blond some sort of grand master of seduction.

"Er, yeah," Potter flushed. "I mean, only if you want to. Would you want to?" He looked so ridiculously flustered and so endearingly hopeful that Draco could feel the normally thick and impenetrable walls he had constructed around himself and his own emotions crumble just a tiny bit in response.

_I can't believe Blaise's stupid plan is actually working._

"Sure," Draco breathed. "Yeah. Yes. I—I would like that."

"Well, good," Potter grinned, sounding relieved. "That's definitely good. I can't wait to become an arsonist with you."

Draco couldn't help but smile at that. "As you should, Potter. I don't commit arson with just anyone, I'll have you know."

"Well, aren't I the special one then." Potter's smile was soft, his words were warm, and Draco felt the sudden urge to kiss him again.

_It's just the plan_, he thought vehemently. _I clearly only want to kiss him to further Blaise's stupid horrid plan that I should never have bloody agreed to. I don't want Potter, I just want the stupid plan to work._

And maybe if Draco told himself that enough times, he might actually start to believe it.

* * *

A/N: Aaand that's the first date down, the precious 'lil things :) And don't worry, there's only so long that Draco can hold onto that denial. Self-delusion can only go so far before cracking.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: In which relationships are defined, kisses are shared, embarrassment is expressed, and sexual histories are discussed.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"So tell us how it went already!"

Pansy's shrill voice was the first thing Draco heard when he opened the door to the dorm he shared with Blaise. She was sprawled across Draco's bed flipping through a magazine while Blaise sat on his own bed reading what looked to be another of those Myerscough mysteries he had become so obsessed with.

Shrugging off his jacket, Draco crossed the room and dropped it on top of his trunk, nudging Pansy with a sigh to get her to make room for him on _his _bloody bed, for god's sake.

"Um," Blaise's voice spoke up behind him and Draco turned just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye, "did you forget whose jacket that is?"

"Mine now," Draco grinned, sounding smug as he added, "Potter thinks I look so good in it he wants me to keep it. And wear it forever. He expressly forbade me from ever giving it back to you."

"So it went well then?" Blaise wondered, sitting up to gaze at Draco speculatively. "The plan is working?"

At the reminder of the plan, Draco felt his stomach clench. God, how he wished his first date had not been the result of some stupid form of shameful manipulation on his part. "Yes, it went fine," Draco answered in a stiff voice.

"What did the two of you end up doing?" Pansy poked him with one foot.

"Shopping," Draco said casually, hoping the other two would not continue to press him for details—a hope he already knew to be in vain. There were no two nosier bastards in the world than Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini.

Pansy gave him a withering stare. "You can't expect us to believe that you've been shopping this entire fucking time, Draco. What did the two of you do _after _you went shopping?"

Draco shrugged, praying his face was not pink. "We went to dinner. And then walked around a bit and talked." _And kissed. And got stared at by Muggles._ _And had my entire life changed in the course of one evening. _Draco decided not to add any of that last bit.

"Potter thought you and I were a couple, you know," Draco said, hoping that he would be able to somehow get their minds off asking about the very private and very, very confusing details of the date; Draco still did not know what to make of any of it.

"He thought you and I were a couple?" Pansy asked, one eyebrow raised, appearing ready to scoff, but Draco cut her off before she could.

"No," he smirked, "he thought Blaise and I were a couple."

"What?!" Pansy looked outraged. "Why would he have assumed the two of _you _were a couple over the two of us? You and I very nearly were a fucking couple! How many bloody times have we snogged? And I'm the only person who's ever been willing to suck you off! How dare he! I'm sorry, Draco, but your new boyfriend is an idiot."

"How jealous was he?" Blaise grinned widely. "When he asked about us? Was it after you told him you spent the whole day wearing my clothes?"

"Why the hell would he even think that in the first place?" Pansy demanded, still sounding upset. "Why wouldn't he have thought you and I were together? Or me and Blaise, even? Does Potter just assume that everyone is bent because he is? I could very easily be involved with one of you if I wanted!"

"No you couldn't," both boys said simultaneously, laughing at Pansy's thunderous expression.

"That shows what either of you two sorry dickheads knows," she sniffed. "I'm a right fucking gorgeous catch and either of you would be lucky to have me if either of you actually deserved me. Stupid arseholes."

"You are a catch, Pansy," Draco said in a tone he hoped was gentle but not patronizing. She really did look hurt and Draco couldn't help but feel bad for laughing at her so blatantly. Next time he would be polite and only laugh at her in his mind.

"A gorgeous catch," Blaise added, and Draco knew he felt bad too.

"And don't you fucking forget it," she nodded, finally relaxing back on the bed. "But seriously, Draco, why did Potter think you and Blaise were involved?"

"Because," Draco shrugged, "he said we're always together and I guess he saw that horrid kiss that Blaise forced on me in the Great Hall the other day like the perverse molesting bastard he is."

"You could only be so lucky to be molested by me," Blaise said, sounding cheerful and unrepentant.

"Please don't force me to prove you wrong by having to be sick all over you if you even try to attempt it," Draco drawled, shuddering at the traumatizing image of Blaise making any sort of move on him.

"Charming," Blaise drawled back.

"Aren't I though?" Draco grinned. "Potter certainly thought so, at least."

"Oh my god, Draco," Pansy said suddenly, a wide smirk spreading across her lips. "You two totally snogged, didn't you?"

"What?" Draco's head snapped around. "Why would you—we didn't—"

"You two totally snogged in front of a million Muggles!" Pansy cackled, and Draco glared at her.

"Oh, stop talking like you were there," he snapped, feeling his cheeks darken in embarrassment. "You don't know anything."

"I know you snogged Potter's face off in front of a hundred Muggles," Pansy sang, still laughing.

"It was one kiss!" Draco said explosively, "And there weren't a hundred Muggles!"

Both Pansy and Blaise stared at him, and Draco realized that although they had been laughing, they were still surprised to hear him confirm that Pansy had been right.

"So how was it then?" Blaise asked, and Draco tried his best to ignore the smirk in Blaise's voice. And the smirk on Blaise's annoying smirking face. "What kind of kisser is Potter? Is he all Gryffindor intensity? Or all Gryffindor sweetness?"

"Is he more romantic or rough?" Pansy added, exchanging a smirk with Blaise. "Did he ask your permission first all hesitant and kittenish, or did he just grab you and kiss you?"

"Oh please," Draco scoffed, his face positively on fire, "he's not a dirty molester like Blaise, he didn't just kiss me out of nowhere without my permission."

"So you did give him permission!" Pansy grinned. "Who initiated it?"

"Um…" Draco's cheeks darkened even further when he realized that, actually, he had been the one to first bring up kissing, and he had then been the one to actually kiss Potter.

"I knew it!" Pansy howled happily. "I knew it would be you! Blaise, you absolute sucker, pay up!"

"What?" Draco gaped as Blaise sighed loudly and tossed Pansy a Galleon from his bedside table. "The two of you bet on us?"

"Of course," Pansy said smoothly, tucking the Galleon away in a pocket of her robes. "Blaise, the idiot, bet that it would be Potter who kissed you first, but I'm the smart one who knew that it would be you."

"How would you know that?" Draco grumbled, feeling oddly betrayed by their betting. "I already told you that you don't know anything. Accept your ignorance already and move on, Pansy."

"You do realize that it doesn't actually make anything true just because you say it, darling," she pointed out, still sounding far too cheerful for Draco's liking. "Besides, I knew that if there was any chance of anyone getting to manipulate Harry Potter into a snog, you would be the first to take it."

"I never said he _wouldn't_ snog Harry Potter. _Obviously_ he would," Blaise interrupted. "But between the two of them, Potter is clearly the braver one. I don't think it's such a mistake to have assumed that Potter would be the aggressor."

Draco stared at the two of them incredulously. "What are you talking about? Did you forget that I was only on that stupid date with Potter because of Blaise's idiotic plan that I was fool enough to go along with?"

"Oh, as if it was the plan that made you go," Blaise said, waving his hand carelessly.

"What does that even mean?" Draco huffed, still upset. "I'll say the same thing to you that I'm forced to say to Pansy every time she opens her mouth—you don't know anything, Blaise!"

The prat only sniggered knowingly in response.

"And you don't know anything either, Pansy!" Draco reminded her sternly.

In response, she gave him a pitying look, as though she also knew something that he did not, which only served to add to Draco's upset.

"You don't know anything," he repeated.

"I know enough," she said lightly, standing and kissing Draco on the forehead. "I also know it's late, and I need to sleep. I'm glad the date went well, Draco. And Blaise," she turned to smirk at him, "I'm glad that you were able to learn a lesson about not betting against me, especially when it comes to Draco. I think we can all agree that I know him the best and that in future, you should simply concede to me rather than embarrass yourself by making foolish bets you obviously can't win. But do try not to wallow in your humiliation too much tonight, hmm? Save at least a bit of wallowing for the morning when I can enjoy it more."

Blaise glared. "This is why neither of us wants to be with you, you realize."

"Oh, I already know why," she said in an airy voice, crossing to the door. "It's because I'm far too good for either of you and neither one of you have ever deserved me. Goodnight, darlings." Blowing them both a kiss, she stepped through the doorway and shut the door behind her, allowing Draco to finally change out of his ridiculously tight Muggle clothing.

"Speaking of bets…" Blaise said, and Draco glanced over with his shirt off to find Blaise smirking. "What did Potter think of the clothes, hmm? How many Galleons do you owe me for his eyeballs popping out of his head when he saw you?"

_Have I told you how fucking hot you look in that goddamn jacket? _The sound of Potter's voice flashed through his mind and Draco blushed. "He seemed to like them," he answered in a stilted voice, hoping that would be enough for the other boy.

"What did he say?" Blaise pressed. "How speechless was he when you first walked up to him?"

At the remembrance of Potter's heated stare raking over him, Draco blushed again. "I suppose I might owe you a Galleon for the speechlessness," he allowed reluctantly, fighting a smile.

"This was the best plan I ever had!" Blaise beamed. "I can't believe it's actually going to work!"

_Right_, Draco thought glumly, _the plan_. God, he hated the plan.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, casting a teeth-cleaning charm on himself before crawling into bed.

"I'll see you in the morning then, you stud," Blaise grinned. "I bet you another Galleon that Potter'll—"

"No more betting," Draco sighed, pausing just as he was starting to draw the curtains, "for Christ's sake."

"Why don't you want me to have any fun?" Blaise pouted. "This was _my_ brilliant plan and I deserve to have the fun of betting on my best friend's personal life. It's one of the main reasons I have best friends, Draco."

"Just go to bed, you tosser," Draco shook his head, fighting another smile. God, he hated Blaise sometimes.

"Yeah," Blaise yawned, settling down. "I think _you'll _be the one tossing soon."

Glaring, Draco wrenched the curtains shut without another word, lying back and trying to get comfortable as he thought back over the strange, oddly pleasant day. Draco had no idea what was going to happen on Monday, but as long as it involved Potter somehow, Draco was excited. _Stupid Potter_, he thought fondly, closing his eyes and pulling the blanket up to his chin.

And not for the first time, Draco fell asleep thinking about Harry Potter.

* * *

"Hey! Malfoy!"

A familiar voice sounded behind the three Slytherins and they all turned as one to watch Potter hurrying up to them, sounding breathless as he said "Hey," again, smiling nervously at Draco.

"Hi," Draco returned, feeling his heart immediately begin hammering. Why had Potter chased him down like that? Was he looking for another date? Another kiss? More confessions? Draco wouldn't necessarily say no to the first two. After all, the plan relied on the first two. Not so much on the third—Draco was more than to content to live the remainder of his life without ever having to confess anything to anyone ever again.

"Um, what are you—" Potter raked a hand through his hair, shooting Pansy and Blaise an uncomfortable look. "Can I—where are you—um, you, er, have a free period right now, don't you?"

"Yes," Draco answered, a small smile beginning to spread across his lips. What was Potter asking?

"We'll go on ahead," Blaise cut in, giving Potter an amused look. "We'll see you in class, Draco."

"You boys have fun now," Pansy smirked, leaning in close to whisper, "But not too much fun," in Draco's ear, smirk widening as he blushed. The two blasted lovely gits strolled off down the corridor, seeming to not have a care in the world.

Potter stared after them in bewilderment. "Your friends seem oddly okay with us talking."

"Yeah," Draco agreed weakly, unwilling to tell Potter just why it was that the other two were so okay with it.

"So," Potter turned back to him with a nervous smile. "I, er, have a free period too. And I know that I should be spending it doing homework and studying for N.E.W.T.'s, according to Hermione. But sometimes her advice is stupid so I chose to ignore it and come find you instead. I was wondering if you would maybe want to go for a walk with me. Or something. Down to the lake or somewhere. Or, you know, we could do something else instead, if you would rather. I just…" he paused to blush, "I just wanted to see you."

"Okay," Draco breathed, unsure how to respond to such an admission. Potter really wanted to see him? He had really tracked Draco down and ignored his friend's advice in the process? "A walk is fine. I, er, love walks. I walk all the time. And the lake. I love the lake. I love…water. We should go to the water. We should definitely go to where the water is." Draco clamped his lips shut as he found himself unable to stop the ridiculous babbling from spilling out. Fuck, what was wrong with him?

"Okay," Potter nodded happily. "Water and walks then. Did you want to drop your books off first?" He gestured to the heavy bag slung over Draco's shoulder.

"Oh, right," Draco said in surprise, glancing down at the bag he had all but forgotten about. Looking up, he slanted Potter a sly glance. "Although, I'm not sure if you should accompany me. What if this whole thing is some twisted plot just to find out where the Slytherin common room is located?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "Oh please, I've known where it is since second year," he scoffed.

"_What?"_ Draco demanded, feeling confused. "How the hell did you find out?"

Potter blushed unexpectedly, raking a hand through his hair. "Er, well, I was actually led there by a Slytherin. But the person who showed me didn't actually know they were showing me. It's sort of complicated."

"Well, you'll have to tell me the whole story sometime," Draco said, starting down the corridor once more and smiling inwardly as Potter fell into step beside him. "I want to know what moronic Slytherin was daft enough to show someone from another House where the common room was without even realizing it."

"Er, yeah, okay," the brunet mumbled, sounding uncomfortable. The sound of his discomfort only served to heighten Draco's curiosity.

The trip down to the dungeons was made in silence. Draco made the brunet wait outside for him to run in and drop off his books, emerging with a grin. "Lead the way, then, Potter," he gestured, swinging his arms as Potter smiled back and began to lead them back up the staircase.

As they exited the castle and began to follow a well-worn path in the grass, Draco glanced over. "So, how do you like the new clothes then?" Potter had removed his outer robes and was wearing pale blue jeans that looked worn but Draco knew to be brand-new, as well as a plain black t-shirt that Draco had insisted the other boy buy, matching his dark hair perfectly and fitting snugly across his chest, making his lean muscled arms look impressive and toned.

_Fuck, Harry Potter is hot,_ Draco thought in surprise, a warm rush of shock sweeping through him at both the sudden realization and the unexpected pride at the thought that someone as fit as Potter was walking beside Draco, wanting to know him better and possibly even schedule more future dates.

"Oh, they're good," Potter blushed, glancing down at himself. "I mean, I'm really not used to wearing Muggle clothes that actually fit, so it's a bit different for me, but I do like them. Thanks for helping me pick them out," he finished shyly, knocking elbows with Draco and earning a smile.

"Sure, Potter," he said softly, suddenly feeling far too aware of the ridiculous way his arms swung when he walked. He tried to hold himself still but felt even more ridiculous for the sudden stiffness in his joints. Lord, how had he forgotten how to walk like a normal person? Were his steps too big? His pace too slow? Did he walk with his feet too far apart? Should he put his hands in his pockets to keep his arms still or would that just make him look like a twat?

Christ, when did walking become so damned difficult?

"I really did have a good time on Saturday," Potter continued, his words only further contributing to Draco's panic. "We should definitely do it again sometime."

"What, journey to the Muggle world? Go clothes shopping? Kiss in front of a million witnesses?" The second the final question passed Draco's lips, he wanted to smack himself in the head. Why had he said that? He hadn't meant to say that!

Potter grinned. "Definitely yes to the last one."

"You don't find that preferable to do in private?" Draco wondered, wanting to smack himself in the head again as Potter laughed.

"Hey, I won't say no to either," Potter grinned, slowing before reaching out to pull Draco to a stop. "And look at that," he said, cheeks red as he glanced around them, "no witnesses in sight. Seems like a pretty private spot to me."

"What if someone sees us?" Draco tilted his head as he considered the brunet. Was Potter really saying that he wanted to kiss Draco? It was one thing to kiss the blond out in public in the Muggle world, where nobody would recognize either of them, but it was an entirely different thing to kiss him where any Hogwarts student could come across them. Was Potter really saying that he had no problems with people knowing about the two of them? Draco had been expecting him to be at least a _little _ashamed of being seen with Draco. Just how strong were Potter's feelings for him?

"What if someone does? I don't care," Potter shrugged. "I've never cared what other people thought, and if they care that I like kissing blokes, then that's their problem, not mine."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Draco mumbled, looking away from the other boy. Had Potter seriously not considered the ramifications of being seen in public with Draco? Did he not understand how hated and shunned by society the blond was? Did Potter not understand _anything? _Draco had thought that, out of everybody in the entire world, it had been Pansy who knew the least, but Draco was now convinced he was standing with the real winner of over-all global ignorance.

"What did you mean then?" Potter wondered, shifting closer in an attempt to get Draco to look at him.

"Well, I meant…" Draco took a deep breath, "it won't be just any bloke they'd see you kissing, Potter. It would be me. And the Muggles don't care, but the same most certainly cannot be said of the world we actually live in."

"What, you think I'm embarrassed to be seen with you?" Potter frowned, this time stepping directly in front of Draco, trying to force the blond to look him in the eye. Draco compromised by looking at Potter's chest and shrugging. "Draco, I don't care about that."

The use of Draco's first name finally succeeded in snapping Draco's attention up to meet Potter's earnest gaze. "You don't?" he croaked, wondering why his voice was so scratchy and his eyes were so hot. _Must be stupid allergies_, he decided, before remembering that he didn't actually have allergies. _Stupid spontaneous allergies_, he nodded firmly to himself.

"Of course not," Potter smiled gently. "I meant it when I said that I don't care what people think about me. So unless _you _have a problem being seen in public with _me_, then…I don't really see the point in hiding this."

Draco stared at him. How could Potter not—what was he saying? "So…" he began hoarsely, struggling to understand, "so you're saying…what are you saying?"

"I'm saying…" Potter fidgeted for several moments while Draco struggled not to faint from how hard his heart was pounding, "I'm saying that I—I don't want _this_," he gestured between the two of them, "to be some casual, secret thing. I want to keep seeing you and I don't want to have to sneak around to do it."

"Oh," Draco breathed, unsure how to respond. He wasn't even sure how he was feeling. Did Potter really mean that? Did he really want to keep seeing Draco? Did he really want to publicly date Draco? Was he really not embarrassed or ashamed or disgusted or _anything _at the thought of people seeing the two of them together? "Right."

"But only if you want to!" Potter hurried to say. "I would never just tell people we're together without your permission. I mean, I'm not saying that this is an all-or-nothing type of situation. We don't have to jump straight into a serious relationship, I just…I just want to keep seeing you."

"Oh," Draco repeated, feeling light-headed.

"Please say something," Potter pleaded. "Actual words other than just 'oh'. Is any of that what you want too or should I just stop embarrassing myself now by saying things you don't want to hear?"

"No, I…" Draco still felt like he was in shock. "I…I'm just…" He couldn't seem to get any real words out, no matter how sincerely Potter asked for them. "I just…Potter…" Well, fuck it. If Draco couldn't respond with words, then he wouldn't respond with words. Words were stupid anyway.

Stepping forward, he reached up to bury both hands in Potter's thick hair and tug him forward into a kiss, sighing when Potter did not hesitate to return it. The brunet hummed as he wrapped both arms around Draco's torso and clenched his fists tightly in the fabric covering Draco's back, pulling him up against the other boy's body as Potter deepened the kiss. It was just as dizzying and intense as their first kiss, and Draco felt his knees buckle as it continued.

God, he had never kissed anybody in such a potentially public place before. Absolutely anybody could come across them and the thought only served to heighten Draco's pleasure of the situation. Lord, who knew he could ever be such an exhibitionist? Potter had already taught him so many things about himself that he had never known, and Draco was excited to find out what else he could learn about himself in the brunet's company.

An odd surge of affection had Draco pulling away far enough to mumble, "Harry," against Potter's lips, and at the sound of his name, Potter groaned deep in his throat and kissed Draco even harder. "Harry," he repeated into Potter's mouth, and the other boy pulled back with a low moan.

"God, _Draco_," he panted, refusing to loosen his hold on the blond. "_Fuck_, you've never called me that before. I don't know if it'll ever not be hot to hear my name from you, which is sort of really weird when you think about it. I never thought I could be turned on by the sound of my own name."

"It is a bit weird," Draco smiled, "but I promise not to tell anyone else how odd and kinky you are."

"Oh, you have no idea, Draco Malfoy," Potter murmured, kissing him again.

"Good thing I plan on finding out then, huh?" Draco whispered, clutching at Potter's hair even tighter. Merlin, where had he learned how to flirt so convincingly? Draco had always thought of himself as socially awkward in one-on-one situations, but he appeared to have somehow been harboring a secret mastery in superior flirting skills that he had not even known he possessed. Huh. He always knew he was talented in ways he wasn't even aware of.

"_Fuck,_" Potter gasped, yanking Draco even closer against him. "I still can't believe any of this is happening. This can't be real, it just can't."

"But it can," Draco smiled.

"No, it _can't," _Potter insisted, and Draco's smile widened.

"Oh, Potter," he said softly, releasing Potter's hair with one hand and trailing his fingers down to stroke Potter's chest, "I'm going to have such fun proving you wrong."

At the statement, Potter made a weird sound, a sort of groaning laugh, and Draco smiled again. "So," Potter panted, pulling back far enough to speak, "can I tell Hermione and Ron then? That we're dating?"

"Tell anyone you like," Draco said, pleased at the thought of Potter telling the world that he belonged to Draco; he definitely liked the sound of those words.

"Everyone, then," Potter agreed. "I'd like to tell everyone."

Draco grinned. "You know, a fifteen-year-old me would have made some joke about you being a press whore and an attention-seeking prat, but the eighteen-year-old me just wants to kiss you again."

"I like the eighteen-year-old you better," Potter chuckled, stealing Draco's response away with a kiss.

_So do I_, Draco thought, wrapping himself more fully around the boy in his arms as they continued to share kisses by the side of the rippling lake.

* * *

"So you were eight when you got your first broom?" Potter asked, the two of them lounging by the lakeside on a blanket Potter had transfigured from his school tie.

"My first real broom," Draco corrected, leaning his shoulder more heavily into Potter's. "I'd had children's brooms before that but those only hovered, really. My father had charmed my real grown-up broomstick though so it couldn't fly higher than two meters, which I always thought was absolute shit. I threw a few legendary tantrums about that one," he grinned, shaking his head at the memory of his screaming about not being able to fly all the way to the bloody moon if he wanted to. "But my father decided my safety was worth putting up with all the tears." As soon as the words left his mouth he froze, wondering if he shouldn't have mentioned his father, but Potter only chuckled and slung his arm around Draco's shoulders to pull him up against the side of his chest.

"You poor thing," he said fondly, and Draco could hear the smile in every one of his words.

"Right?" Draco agreed in a sad voice, turning to give Potter his best pout. Potter responded with a laugh and leaned forward to steal the pout away with a kiss, one that Draco turned more fully into so he could deepen it. He could hear the sound of the lake slapping against hard rocks, the cawing of birds overhead, the rustling of wind through the long grass they were sat in, but the more he kissed Harry, the more the rest of the world seemed to melt away until it had faded into nothing but indistinguishable background noise, a low buzzing hum that Draco could not focus on even if he wanted to—not while Harry was kissing him, at least. He could feel the sun on his skin, the breeze as it swept past him, the hard ground beneath him, but all those feelings paled in comparison to the feel of Potter's lips on his, his hands on Draco's skin, his dark hair tickling Draco's face.

There was nothing in the world at that moment but Harry Potter, and Draco was strangely okay at the thought of it. The blond had been forced to accept a long time ago that the vast majority of his world would always be taken up by Harry Potter; this was nothing new and yet so much better. There were fingers in Draco's hair, a hand on his chest, a tongue in his mouth, and without even being aware of Potter gently pushing him, Draco found himself flat on his back with Harry looming over him, smiling down at the blond trapped beneath him.

"God, you are so fucking gorgeous, Draco," Harry murmured, eyes searching Draco's face before they slid shut and the brunet was kissing him once again.

"Glad you finally noticed," Draco mumbled into the other boy's mouth, running one hand up Potter's back to clutch at his shoulder while the other gripped a fistful of his shirt tightly.

Harry chuckled into the kiss, sending tingling vibrations through Draco's lips. "You act like I haven't noticed 'til now. Trust me, Draco, I've fucking noticed."

"I could tell by all the stalking," Draco grinned, and felt Potter's mouth pull into a reluctant smile. "You're really not as subtle as you think you are, by the way. Your sneakiness definitely needs work."

"Hey, I can be sneaky when I want to be," the brunet complained, spreading light kisses along Draco's jaw. "I just don't always choose to be. There's a difference."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Potter," Draco smirked, breath catching as the other boy moved lower to trail his nose and lips across the sensitive skin of Draco's throat, earning a shiver from the blond.

"Why are you still talking?" the other boy grumbled, capturing Draco's mouth in a deep kiss just as one hand began to stroke his chest. Draco hummed and pulled Potter closer, loving the feel of Potter's heavy weight atop him, making him feel warm and wanted and safe. He made Draco feel alive, he made him feel relaxed, he made him feel content—he made Draco _feel, _in a way that Draco had not even been aware he had not felt.

But the content relaxed feeling vanished as Potter began to trail his hand down Draco's stomach, traveling lower, and Draco's eyes flew open as he reached out to snatch at Potter's wrist. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, panic in his words. Kissing was one thing, kissing was fine, but Draco was definitely _not _ready for whatever it was that Potter had been about to do!

"Kissing you?" Potter asked in an innocent voice, tilting his head in a stupidly adorable way that Draco absolutely refused to admit he found cute. Potter was not being cute at the moment, he was being crass! _Crass, Draco, not cute!_ the blond reminded himself, repeating it twice more for good measure and then once more for luck.

"Potter, we're outside," Draco said weakly, fighting his way free from beneath the brunet to sit up and attempt to straighten his clothing. How had it gotten so twisted? "Anybody could see us! For Christ's sake!"

Potter stared at him in growing amusement. "Draco," he began slowly, lips twitching despite the caution in his voice, "are you a virgin?"

"_What?"_ Draco gasped, gaze sharpening into a glare. "What the fuck, what does that have to do with anything?"

Potter's grin grew wider. "You totally are!"

Draco felt himself blush even as he glared harder. "Shut up, Potter! _Christ_, I knew you would ruin this somehow by being a git. I'm going back inside now, you can stay out here and have fun being a sad lonely pervert wanking in public by yourself."

"No, don't be angry!" Potter snatched at his wrist, still grinning. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Draco, I was just surprised is all!"

"Why?" Draco struggled to pull his arm free. "Because I look like such a slag? Or because I look like someone who has absolutely no code of personal ethics or self-control?"

"What?" Potter dropped his wrist in surprise. "No, of course not! I'm just surprised because, well, I mean, look at you!" He gestured to Draco with the hand he been holding Draco's wrist prisoner in.

Draco rolled his eyes even as he shifted further away. "I'm not some delicate untouched flower, Potter. Just because I'm not okay with people wanking me off in public or whatever you had been about to do, doesn't make me some weird prude or some overly-pure image of absolute chastity."

"We're not in public," Potter pointed out, and Draco felt his head begin to ache from how hard he was glaring at the stupid idiot. "Okay, fine," Potter relented, holding both hands up palm out. "No public wanking, got it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, as much fun as this conversation has been, I think I should go back to the castle now. I need Blaise to check over one of my essays for me. I'll see you later, Potter." And without waiting for a response, Draco jumped to his feet and began striding quickly back to the castle, trying not to panic. Oh god, though, Pansy had been right! She had been far too right about Potter—despite his sweetness and Gryffindor romanticism, he was just another typical boy wanting nothing more than to get off.

_Stupid Pansy, being right about things,_ Draco thought venomously, stomping his way up the gently sloping hill. _And stupid perverted Potter for unknowingly making Pansy be right about things by being a dirty public-wanking pervert. _Had it really been that obvious that Draco was a virgin? Had his inexperience really been _that _bloody obvious?

Well, so much for Blaise's stupid plan, because now Draco would never be able to look Potter in the eye ever again. And right when Draco was finally starting to be able to admit to himself that he maybe didn't totally fully completely dislike Potter after all anymore. Possibly. Sometimes. When the git wasn't talking, at least.

"Hey," a breathless voice said, right before a hand reached out to close around Draco's upper arm and attempt to tug him to a stop.

Still feeling embarrassed enough to be angry, Draco jerked his arm away and ignored the brunet, hoping that Potter could not see how red Draco's cheeks were. Merlin though, why was Potter able to turn Draco into such an insecure pile of humiliated rage so quickly? Why was he the only one capable of making him feel like that, with nothing more than a handful of words and a few sly looks?

Well, Draco was done with it. He hated it and he was done with it and he did not want to stick around just so that Potter could continue making fun of him. He _had_ been making fun of him, hadn't he? Draco wasn't actually entirely sure, but it didn't matter, because he had certainly felt made fun of, and he did. Not. Like it.

"Draco, wait, please!" Potter's voice sounded pleading and contrite, but Draco still did not want to turn around. God, why was embarrassment the hardest emotion to deal with? Draco wasn't even certain why he was so embarrassed in the first place. All he knew was that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there and Potter seemed to want nothing more than to hinder every attempt he made at escape. Stupid Gryffindor; did he really not see that oftentimes escape was the best option to take?

"Draco!" Suddenly, Potter was standing right in front of him, startling the blond, who took an automatic step back. "God, I forgot how dramatic you are," the brunet panted, sounding winded. Good.

"That's me," Draco's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "The virginal drama queen. Did you catch up to me just to insult me? Because I would really rather prefer to be a dramatic virgin elsewhere at the moment, actually. And you can stay here and be a…" he struggled with words for a moment, "an undramatic non-virgin. I hope it's fun for you. Goodbye, Potter." And with that—admittedly dramatic—outburst, Draco prepared to stalk away in the least dramatic way he was able to, but before he could, he found himself enveloped in a warm embrace. Potter's arms were suddenly wrapped around him, the other boy smelling clean like pine trees and wind as he hugged Draco tightly to himself.

"God, you are definitely not boring," Potter chuckled, squeezing him tighter. "I didn't mean to insult you, Draco, I really didn't. And I definitely didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Who said I was either?" Draco muttered, arms itching to return the embrace but remaining locked firmly at his sides.

"Don't be mad at me," Potter said quietly, pulling back far enough to look Draco in the eye. "We were having a good time and I'm sorry for ruining it. I really was just surprised."

"Yes, well, sorry if not all of us get a hundred different people throwing themselves at us every single day," Draco grumbled, feeling himself unwillingly soften at Potter's stupidly genuine and very-much unwanted sincerity.

"Oh please, I don't get that many people throwing themselves at me," Potter sighed, sounding exasperated. "And I definitely don't take any of them up on it! I've technically only ever been with Ginny! _Once!_"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You were with her for how long? And the two of you only shagged once?"

"Well, one and a half times," Potter smiled. "Maybe one and like…three-quarters times. But she was Ron's little sister and even though I really did like her, or at least I thought I did, I was never comfortable with the idea of us being together like that. It only took the one time for me to realize the real reason why though."

"And that would be…?"

Potter shook his head in amusement. "Have you not noticed that I'm just a bit bent, Malfoy? It only took one time with Ginny for me to start really realizing that. That's the real reason we never ended up getting back together after the war. And then I did some stuff with Fleur's cousin Baptiste when he was up here with her family visiting over the summer and I ended up finding out a few new things about myself that I hadn't been aware of. So…I'd say I'm pretty fully bent, really." He grinned at Draco, but Draco could only frown.

"Baptiste?" he scoffed, feeling an emotion hotter than the earlier embarrassment sweep through him at the mention of the stupid boy and his stupid name and his stupid sexual experience and his stupid…French-ness, and it was an emotion that Draco refused to put a name to.

"Yeah," Potter smiled. "He was nice. Looked a lot like you, actually. Only he had blue eyes, not grey. And his hair wasn't as soft. And he wasn't as dramatic."

Draco scoffed again. "I still can't tell if you're actively trying to insult me or just saying untrue things."

Potter raised one eyebrow. "Are you telling me your hair isn't soft, then?"

A reluctant smile spread across Draco's face at the daft git. "Not what I meant, Potter."

"Call me Harry again," the brunet whispered, leaning forward to press his forehead against Draco's, who finally allowed his arms to reach up enough to clutch at Potter's shirt.

"Only when you deserve it," Draco said quietly.

"Hmm, I'll just have to see what I can do to deserve it then," Potter breathed, right before capturing Draco's mouth in a deep kiss, and Draco was unable to resist kissing him back.

He wanted to respond with something witty and hilarious, but his mouth was occupied and his mind a complete blank. He would simply have to content himself with knowing that had he been able to respond, his response would undoubtedly have been the wittiest, most hilarious thing Potter had ever heard—which wouldn't be too difficult a feat to achieve, considering the company the brunet kept.

"I really like you, Draco," Potter murmured, stealing kisses between words. "Don't be mad at me."

"God, you're a prat," Draco murmured back, stealing kisses of his own. "Don't stop kissing me."

He felt Potter smile into the kiss. "Done."

* * *

"So what did he want?" Pansy asked with a smirk, gathering her notes together and shoving everything into her bag. "You weren't at lunch, and you barely made it to class on time. Whatever could you and Potter have been doing?"

"None of your business," Draco sniffed, feeling himself blush but hoping that he could make it go away by simply ignoring it.

"Of course it's our business," Blaise said, sounding amused. "As your closest friends, everything you do is our business. Don't shut us out, Draco. Not when we love you this much." The words were accompanied by a sad expression, one that Draco could not help but roll his eyes at.

"I can see you trying not to smile, Blaise, for fuck's sake."

"That's because you're looking when you should be talking," Blaise pointed out, and Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes again at the ridiculously stupid statement.

"I'm talented enough to do both at the same time, actually, despite how difficult it can apparently be for some people. And I don't have to talk to you about anything," Draco reminded them hotly. Just because they were the only two people in the world who tolerated his company did not mean that Draco had to spill his guts to them about every single little thing in his life. It just meant that he needed to work on his tolerability.

"Did you fuck him?" Pansy's smirk had widened, and Draco wanted to curse the expression off her dumb face. "Or did he fuck you? I can't really imagine Potter letting himself get fucked."

"Nobody fucked anybody!" the blond hissed, glancing around the three of them as they exited the classroom and began to make their way to the library. "For Christ's sake, Pans, I already told you that not everybody is as big a slag as you!"

"I think you mean as free-spirited and unencumbered by the opinions of others," she said, eyes narrowed. "It's not my fault that you're such a fucking prude, you know."

"I'm not a prude!" Draco snapped, uncomfortably reminded of his earlier conversation with Potter about the blond's virginity. Was he really the oldest virgin left in the whole school? Why did he go to school with so many goddamn slags? "Just because I'm not willing to suck off every bloke who even remotely glances my direction in the hopes of gaining his attention doesn't mean I'm a prude!"

Pansy's mouth tightened and she glared at Draco before turning away. Blaise glared at him as well, reaching out one hand to smack Draco on the arm.

"I'm sorry, Pansy, that was mean," Draco apologized, feeling guilt swirl through him.

"It's fine," she said stiffly, and Draco decided to take a page from Potter's book, stepping in front of her and forcing her to a halt.

"I'm sorry, Pansy, really. You're beautiful and wonderful and any man would be lucky to have you," he said softly, praying her tantrum would not last as long as they normally did. He was well aware that nobody on the planet enjoyed throwing a strop more than Pansy-temperamental-Parkinson. Merlin, and Potter thought Draco could be dramatic…

"Yes, they would," she agreed, slapping Draco sharply on the arm in the same spot that Blaise had hit him in. "That's for being an impolite twat, you twat." She slapped him again. "And that's for insulting only one of two people in the entire world willing to be seen with you in public."

"Not anymore," Draco grinned ruefully, rubbing his upper arm. "Potter says he's more than willing to be seen with me in public. He told me that he doesn't want us to be some casual, secret thing. That boy could not be any more in love with me if he were to try."

"Seriously?" Blaise asked, sounding insultingly dumbstruck. "He's really willing to be seen in public with you, as your boyfriend?"

"Why do you sound so fucking surprised?" Draco huffed. "This was your stupid plan in the first place."

"Well, yeah," Blaise shrugged, "but I didn't actually think it would _work_. I didn't actually think he would be so willing or so comfortable being seen in public with you."

Draco glared. "Ta ever so, you twat-faced cunt."

"A twat-faced cunt?" Blaise repeated, sounding amused.

Damn it, he was supposed to sound offended and insulted, not amused! _Stupid prat can't even be insulted when he's meant to be,_ Draco thought irritably.

"Yes, Draco," Pansy piped up, and Draco turned his glare on her at the sound of amusement in her voice. "What exactly does a twat-faced cunt look like?"

"Would you like me to a fetch a mirror?" he drawled. "Because there are two standing right in front of me."

"Two mirrors or two cunts with twatty faces?" Blaise wondered, grinning widely.

"Stop smiling, I was insulting you!" Draco told him in a sharp voice. "Just fucking be insulted when you're meant to be!"

They both laughed.

"Sure, Draco, we're both very, very insulted," Blaise cooed patronizingly, patting Draco on the head. "Right, Pansy?"

"The most insulted we've ever been," she nodded in a similar tone.

"God, sometimes I hate the two of you," Draco grumbled, striding past them and continuing on alone.

"No you don't," Blaise said cheerfully as they fell into step on either side of him. "You could never stop loving us and you know it."

"I don't know any such thing," Draco insisted with a glare, crossing his arms as they entered the library. The other two laughed but said nothing as they headed to their usual empty table in the very back of the large room and began pulling parchments and notes from their bags.

"I'll be back in a minute," Draco said, removing his outer robes and slinging them over the back of his chair. "I need to go find that book on ancient runes that Professor Babbling was talking about today."

"All right, twat-face," Blaise said brightly, pulling out a small pot of ink and his ridiculously large, flashy, and almost laughably expensive quill—and what was he trying to compensate for with that, Draco wondered wryly.

"Arseholes, the pair of you," he decided, narrowing his eyes at the both of them.

"Wait, I'm confused," Pansy smirked, "are we arseholes or twatty cunts?"

At the question, Blaise laughed loudly, earning several curious glances from the students around them.

"You're both, congratulations," Draco told her with an eye roll. "I hope it makes you feel special."

"Wow, we sound talented, Pansy, don't we?" Blaise turned to her to share another annoying smirk.

"Right, I'm leaving now," Draco declared. "You two can keep being knobs."

"How often do you think about genitals, Draco?" Blaise chuckled. "First we're twatty cunts, then we're arseholes, now we're knobs? I think we all know what's on _your _mind, don't we? Are we going to be tits next?"

Face burning, Draco turned away without another word and marched off into the maze of bookshelves, praying he would find better friends in the stacks, friends who knew how to bloody well be insulted when he wanted them to be.

Scanning the shelves, he jumped when a hand suddenly settled on his upper back. Whipping around, he inhaled sharply at the sight of Potter standing directly behind him, smiling.

"Hey," the brunet said, standing far closer than Draco could have believed possible without the blond becoming aware of his presence. _Okay, maybe he really can be sneaky when he wants to be_.

"Potter," Draco said in confusion, glancing around the two of them. "What are you doing here? Did you follow me here _again?"_ Why was Potter the only person Draco had ever known who somehow equated stalking with love?

"No," Potter chuckled. "I was here first. So if anyone followed anyone, _you _followed _me_."

"I can hardly follow you if I didn't even know you were here."

"True, I s'pose," the brunet grinned. "I'm here with Ron and Hermione and I saw the three of you come in."

"Ah," was all Draco said. Lord, he hoped that Potter had not heard their conversation about genitals.

"You can come sit with us, if you want," Potter said hopefully, leaning even further into Draco's space. "Or I can sit with you, if you'd rather. Although, I'm not sure if Parkinson won't try to stab me with a quill or sic another dark wizard on me again or something."

"Not sure I can promise that either," Draco said with a smile. "The girl has always been a bit unpredictable."

"Come sit at my table then," the other boy urged, reaching down to grasp one of Draco's hands between both of his own and raise it to his chest.

"I'm not sure Weasley won't try to strangle me with a shoelace or hex my balls off under the table," Draco pointed out, feeling light-headed from Potter's proximity. Lord, how was he always able to make Draco feel so dizzy just by looking at him in a certain way? Was Draco coming down with something? Was this another side effect of those spontaneous allergies that he decided he most definitely had? Draco didn't need a Healer to diagnose him—he was more than capable of properly diagnosing himself. And dizziness brought on by spontaneous allergies was certainly more believable than dizziness being brought on by Harry Potter.

Right?

Potter laughed. "Not sure I can promise that he won't do that in private, but definitely not in front of Hermione."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What a comfort, Potter, thank you for assuaging my concerns for my personal well-being."

Potter laughed again. "Christ, who the hell uses words like 'assuage'?"

"Educated people," Draco sniffed.

"Pretentious people, I think you mean," the brunet grinned, leaning forward to press a light kiss to Draco's jaw.

"You seem to be taking a lot of liberties with the kissing," Draco said in a trembling voice.

"Because you don't seem to be objecting," Potter murmured with another light kiss. "And because I've wanted to for so fucking long that I honestly can't help myself now that I've finally got the chance. I never thought I would ever be able to do something like this." His teeth grazed over the skin of Draco's earlobe, earning a shiver.

"Did you tell your sidekicks then?" Draco wondered, trying to fight the urge to yank Potter up against him. "About the two of us?"

"Yes," Potter breathed hotly over his neck and Draco felt himself break out in gooseflesh. "Did you tell _your _friends about us?"

"I didn't need to," Draco chuckled. "You haven't exactly been subtle about it, you know."

"Subtlety is for Slytherins," Potter quipped, kissing Draco's chin. "I was put in Gryffindor for a reason."

"Lack of subtlety and bad hair?" Draco guessed, feeling breathless as Potter trailed a line of kisses along his jaw.

"I've heard from a reliable source that the color is pretty," Potter reminded him, and Draco blushed.

"Potter, we're in the library," he groaned, clutching at the other boy's shoulders as he stepped even closer into Draco's body, trapped between Potter and a bookshelf. "Anyone could walk past."

"So go back to your table," Potter hummed. "I'm not stopping you." His words were accompanied by a deep kiss and Draco wanted to huff, because honestly, how was this not stopping him? But Potter's hands were running over his chest and up his neck to tangle in his hair and the desire to huff was quickly forgotten.

"Harry, what are you—GAH!"

The kiss was broken as Potter's head automatically whipped around, Draco leaning over to peer past him and nearly feeling his heart stop dead at the sight of a horrified-looking Weasley staring at them with his mouth open.

"I came to see where you'd gone," the redhead said weakly, pressing the heel of one hand to his heart. "Urgh, nevermind though, I'll just go back to the table and be traumatized over there. God, I miss the days when I would've walked in on the two of you punching each other instead of...whatever the hell that just was," he muttered with a gesture, eyes fixed on the floor. "God, watching you snog my little sister was bad enough, but now the fucking Ferret? Are you actively trying to date the people I least approve of in the entire bloody world?"

"Nobody asked you to be here, Weasley," Draco snapped, feeling irrationally stung at the reminder that not a single person in the country would approve of him as worthy enough to date Potter, along with a strong surge of annoyance at being compared to the fucking Weasley bint. Draco was clearly nothing like her. He had nice hair and intelligence and overflowing bank vaults, and she had none of those things. "You're the one who interrupted _us_, stop acting like we tricked you into coming over here!"

"Oh, shut up, you ponce," Weasley shot back, "I'm already struggling not to have heart failure, I don't need the sound of your whiny voice adding to it, okay?"

"I'll see you back at the table, Ron," Potter said loudly, just as Draco began opening his mouth to say something scathing. He wasn't quite sure what it was that he had been about to say, but he was certain that whatever it was would undoubtedly have wounded Weasley beyond any amount of healing. The stupid prat would most likely have been flayed alive by the force of Draco's eloquent insults. His insults had definitely been known to hospitalize deserving recipients in the past.

"Your friends are wankers," Draco decided as Weasley stalked off, muttering to himself in a way that made Draco wonder just how mentally stable the git really was. Only mental people talked to themselves in such a manner, after all. Draco had recently become an expert in self-diagnosis and was therefore able to correctly diagnose Weasley with a clinical case of Extreme Unhinged Wankery; Draco hoped it was terminal. Crossing his arms with a huff, Draco took a step away from Potter.

"Yeah," Potter sighed. "Maybe it's not the best idea for you to come sit with me after all."

"Good, fine then," Draco said in agreement, feeling pinpricks of hurt at the realization that Potter either did not want him around his friends or did not trust him around his friends. It wasn't Draco's fault the boy's friends were stupid wanking ugly loud-mouthed weasels! _All right, perhaps it's comments like that that are the reason he doesn't want me around them,_ Draco allowed. "I'll see you around then." He stepped around Potter, preparing to march back to the table he was sat at with Pansy and Blaise, but before he could, he was stopped by a hand on his wrist, swinging him back around to face the dark-haired boy.

"That's not a good enough goodbye, Malfoy," Potter murmured, a moment before tugging sharply and pulling Draco close enough to plant a searing kiss to his mouth, one Draco could not help but sink into with a shaky moan, a sound that surprised him but only made Potter kiss him even more fiercely.

After entire minutes—or possibly even lifetimes, but who was keeping track?—had passed, Potter finally pulled back. "_That _is how you say goodbye," he said in a soft voice.

"Is that how you say goodbye to everyone?" Draco whispered, struggling to catch his breath. Merlin's ghost but Potter could kiss.

"No," Potter smiled. "I save that sort of goodbye for you."

"You better not be saving it for anyone else," the blond warned, returning the smile.

At the comment, Potter's breath caught. "Does that mean…" Draco could practically feel the other boy's blush from where he was standing, "does that mean that…you and I…does that mean w-we're exclusive?" The last word was said so quietly that Draco almost couldn't hear it.

Draco felt a similar blush spread through his cheeks and kissed Potter in an attempt to distract him from Draco's sudden embarrassment. "I don't share, Potter," he said in a low voice. "I would have thought you'd know this about me by now."

"I'm fine not being shared," Potter said, still smiling. "But only as long as you're not being shared either."

_As if anybody else wants me_, Draco thought, sighing internally. It was hardly the same thing—everybody wanted Potter, everybody was dying to get a piece of him. The only thing everybody was dying to do in regards to Draco was to get as far away from him as possible. "Deal," Draco said, stealing another kiss. "We only share ourselves with each other."

It was official—the plan had worked. Blaise's mad plan had actually worked, and Draco was surprised at how little effort the whole seduction bollocks had actually taken. Either Potter was extremely easy or Draco was extremely talented.

"Okay," Potter breathed. "Yes. That—that sounds good. I like that. Okay, definitely, let's definitely do that."

Draco chuckled. "I should go back to my table now before Pansy comes looking for me. The nosy bint is probably already on her way."

"Right, okay," the brunet nodded, his words undermined by yet another kiss.

"Harry, stop," Draco whined, undermining his own words by clutching Potter even tighter to himself.

Potter growled as he kissed Draco again. "Christ, Draco, you can't kiss me like that and call me by my first name and tell me you want us to be exclusive and then expect me to just walk away."

"Turned on by your own name, you really are a kinky sod," Draco grinned, panting.

"Only for you," Potter vowed, gripping Draco's hips so tightly the blond was sure he would have bruises, possibly even internal damage, considering Potter's surprising strength, but complaining was the furthest thing from his mind. It was surprising how good the risk of internal damage actually felt—Draco found himself wishing that Potter might even clutch him a bit tighter.

"Oh!" a sudden voice squeaked somewhere to their left, and both boys looked over to see a Slytherin third-year watching them with wide eyes. "Um, sorry," she stammered, clutching a large book to her chest as she began to stumble backwards. "Um…" And casting one final glance at the two of them, she turned and fled.

"Well now you've done it, Potter," Draco said sourly, stepping away from the brunet. "Now the whole school is sure to know by dinnertime."

"Is that a bad thing?" Potter tilted his head as he considered Draco with a serious look.

"I'm talking about for _you_, Potter," Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm talking about the ramifications for _you_, for Merlin's fucking sake."

"I don't care what anyone thinks," the other boy said softly, closing the distance between them until he was standing even closer to Draco than before. "Anyone who has a problem with it isn't worth knowing. I'm not ashamed of you, Draco, or embarrassed to be seen with you. So stop worrying already."

Draco said nothing; he wasn't even sure why he was so worried or hesitant in the first place. The whole point of Blaise's stupid plan was for Potter to publicly acknowledge their so-called relationship, so why was Draco suddenly so scared? Why was he arguing? Why was he longing to confess the entire stupid plan to Potter and then plead for mercy? Not that Malfoys ever pled for anything, of course, especially from someone such as Harry Potter.

"It'll be fine," Potter whispered, wrapping Draco in a tight hug that made him somehow feel both terrified and safe at the same time. "You'll see, Draco. It'll be fine."

And lord, how Draco longed to believe him.

* * *

That night at dinner, several Slytherins and more than one Ravenclaw glanced in Draco's direction curiously, but there were no shocked gasps, no judgmental glares, no hissed threats. Even the suspicious looks he had grown used to receiving did not appear to be more than usual. Draco was finally able to release the breath he had been holding since the second they had been spotted in the library. For the moment, it didn't seem as though it had yet gotten around the school.

Maybe everything really would be fine, after all.

* * *

A/N: And now there's just no slowing things down between them :) I hope everyone is prepared for some of that adult content you were warned about at the start because that is coming your way next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: In which moods are chaotic, denial is demolished, reintroductions are made, and guilt is experienced. And content is adult.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"So is Potter really your boyfriend now then?" Pansy asked idly, flipping through a magazine. She lay on Blaise's bed on her stomach while Blaise sat next to her hip writing a letter to his mother but occasionally glancing at the magazine over her shoulder. Draco was flipping through Blaise's wardrobe, attempting to find the perfect outfit for his upcoming date with Potter that night.

God, was it really going to be their fifth date? Draco couldn't help but smile as he remembered their previous dates. They had indeed burnt all of Potter's old clothes down by the boathouse on their second date, and it made Draco smile even wider at the memory of Potter's happy laughter as he incinerated all the horrible reminders of his awful childhood, some of which he had even shared with Draco. For their third date, they had gone down to the village together and Draco had paid for their drinks, after which Potter had bought him a ridiculous amount of sweets, which Draco had been slowly working his way through and which he suspected Pansy and Blaise had been stealing from. For their fourth date, Potter had taken him night flying, leading him to a far-off clearing in the forest for a moonlit picnic, and Draco shivered at the memory of Harry stretching the blond out on the blanket he had brought before kissing him breathless.

For their fifth date, Draco had no idea what Potter had planned. Whatever it was, though, Draco was excited just to see the brunet, which still seemed such an odd thought to him. He never would have guessed there would ever come a day when he would be so excited to spend time with Harry sodding Potter, but that was the reality the blond had somehow found himself in. And it wasn't a reality he was keen to wake up from, either.

"Draaaco? Hellooo?" a voice called, and Draco's head snapped around to find Pansy and Blaise both smirking at him. "Oh, look at that, he finally heard me," Pansy drawled, and Draco flushed.

"It's not my fault I was forced to teach myself how to tune you out years ago," he sniffed, turning back to Blaise's wardrobe and continuing to rifle through the clothing. It was clearly Pansy's fault for being so tune-outable, not Draco's fault for being the one to have to constantly tune her out every other second.

"Why do you have to wear my clothes again?" Blaise wondered, signing his letter with a flourish and setting it aside to dry. "You have your own sodding clothes, you know."

"Yes," Draco agreed, "but Harry likes me in Muggle clothing. I already told you that."

He looked over just in time to see Pansy and Blaise exchange a glance. "_Harry_, hmm?" Blaise said casually, leaning back against his pillows.

"Does _Harry_ prefer you _in_ Muggle clothing," Pansy drawled, grinning, "or _out _of Muggle clothing?"

"Oh, fuck off," Draco muttered, tossing a pair of denims onto his bed and looking for a shirt.

"Wouldn't you rather have _Harry _fuck you off?" Pansy asked in an innocent voice, and Draco looked around for something to throw at her.

"What does that even mean? That doesn't even mean anything!"

"Maybe she meant 'wouldn't you rather have Harry _suck_ you off'," Blaise grinned.

"Both," Pansy shrugged. "I think Draco would like _Harry_ to do both."

"Why are you two being berks about this?" Draco grumbled, yanking a white shirt free and tossing it atop the denims. "You two are the ones who pushed me into this plan in the first place! You wanted Potter to be my boyfriend, and now he's my boyfriend. I can't fucking call my boyfriend by his last name, can I? That would just be weird." _Plus, it turns him on when I call him by his given name,_ Draco thought smugly, deciding not to share that information. They would never let him live such a thing down.

"Hey, whatever you two are into, I don't judge," Blaise said, palms held up.

"Liar, you judge everything," Draco said, throwing a pillow at him. Blaise caught it with a grin instead of letting it smack him in the face like it was supposed to, making Draco frown. Next time, Draco would make less selfish friends who could accept their fate when it was meant to happen.

"Only the things worth judging," Blaise smiled angelically and threw the pillow back at Draco, who caught it with a huff and threw it at Pansy. It hit her full in the face and Draco couldn't help but laugh at her. Loudly.

"Sod off, you prat!" she snapped, throwing the pillow on the floor. "What the hell did you throw it at _me_ for?"

Draco shrugged. "Because you were the only one who hadn't had it thrown at them yet."

"If you've messed up my lipstick, Draco Malfoy…" she warned, getting up to check her reflection in Blaise's wardrobe mirror.

"You'll what?" Draco grinned, "Fix it?"

"I have no idea what Potter fucking sees in you," she muttered, combing through her hair with her fingers.

Draco shrugged again, still grinning. "Probably the same thing you saw in me when you spent whole entire years trying so desperately to get in my pants."

"Sod off again!" she said, sounding outraged. "I was never desperate! And you can keep your pants as far away from me as possible, thank you very much!"

"I really don't think _Harry_ would take too kindly to you getting too near his pants now anyway," Blaise said, stretching out across his mattress now that Pansy was no longer on it. "Those pants and everything inside them is Potter's property."

"Oh, they are not," Draco huffed. "My bits are still my own property, thank you, not Harry Potter's."

"Oh, they are so," Pansy snorted. "You should have seen his face across the Great Hall the other day when Blaise put his arm around you."

"Yeah, you really need to stop doing that," Draco's said, nose wrinkled at the memory. "For my sake as well as Potter's."

"I thought he was _Harry?"_ Blaise cooed, laughing as Draco shot him a rude hand gesture. "Besides, I'm not even bent! _And _you were my best friend _way _before the two of you ever got involved. And you wear my clothes and sleep in the same room as me. So he can deal with it."

"Yeah?" Draco felt one corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk. "You gonna be the one to tell him all that?"

"What, you think I'm not brave enough to?" Blaise raised one eyebrow. "Is that what you're implying?"

"No, that's what I'm outright saying," Draco returned, stripping off his robes so he could pull the borrowed Muggle clothing on, doing his best to ignore Pansy's avid gaze. _Dirty pervert_, he thought fondly.

"All right, fine," Blaise said, sitting up and sounding determined. "When are you meeting up with him?"

Draco shrugged. "He should be waiting outside the common room already, actually." He ran a comb through his hair and spritzed himself with cologne, making sure his appearance was perfect.

"I still can't believe you showed him where it is," Pansy shook her head. "He didn't even have to suck you off or anything to find out, you just _told _him. Honestly, Draco, what kind of Slytherin are you?"

"I didn't have to tell him a thing," Draco rolled his eyes. "He already knew. He said he's known where the common room is since second year."

"What?" They both looked startled. "_How?"_

Draco shrugged again. "He still won't tell me. All he's said is that he was led here by some Slytherin who didn't even realize it was him they were leading here."

Pansy snorted loudly. "What kind of moron could bring Potter here without even fucking realizing it was Harry Potter they were bringing? I mean, that really is its own level of idiocy."

"Yeah, are you sure it was a Slytherin?" Blaise demanded, slipping his shoes on. "And not someone from a stupider house, like a Hufflepuff?"

"But how would that Hufflepuff have found out where it is?" Draco asked in a patient tone, already far too used to indulging his friend's stupidity.

"Oh, right, I suppose," Blaise allowed. "Well, I want to know who it was as soon as he tells you. Maybe you could bribe the answer out of him."

"I am not trading sexual favors just for a bit of gossip," Draco glared, glancing at himself one final time before nodding in approval.

"I never said to use sexual favors," Blaise said with a wide grin, "but I like that that's the first place your mind went."

Rolling his eyes, Draco felt himself redden but made no response, opening the door to the dorm and rolling his eyes again as he heard Pansy and Blaise both scrambling after him. "Why are the two of you coming?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"To say goodbye, of course," Blaise answered in an innocent voice. "Is there something wrong with wanting to wish my best friend a good evening spent in the arms of his one true love?"

"Don't you dare say something like that in front of him, Blaise Zabini," Draco warned. "You weren't even invited to see him!"

"But, Draco," Blaise said in a sad voice, "you haven't even introduced him to me and Pansy yet. We're supposed to be your best friends and you won't even introduce us to your boyfriend."

"Maybe because I don't want him knowing what sort of lunatics I spend so much time around," Draco muttered, shrugging into the leather jacket he still had yet to return to Blaise.

"Takes a lunatic to know a lunatic," Blaise sang, putting one arm around Draco's shoulders and squeezing. "You are our blond little lunatic and we treasure you."

"Yeah, you stupid prat," Pansy spoke up on his other side, "so fucking well treasure us back!"

"I do treasure you," Draco argued as the entrance slid open. "Just, you know, from a distance."

"It's amazing how much he loves us, Pansy, isn't it?" Blaise shook his head in amusement. "Especially since one of us—that being me—is kind enough to let him wear my clothes. His ungrateful arse is in _my _trousers and he still can't bloody be nice about it."

A throat cleared from several meters away, and the three of them glanced up to find Potter leaning against the opposite wall, silently watching the three of them.

"Potter!" Blaise greeted cheerfully, loosening his hold on Draco but not dropping his arm, something Draco noticed Harry had not stopped staring at. "Pansy and I thought we would come see you kids off on your little date, especially considering the fact that Draco has not yet been polite enough to introduce us." He glanced between the three Slytherins for a moment before turning back to Harry. "Or reintroduce us, I should say, seeing as how Pansy and I are changed, newly reformed people and all that, treading lines previously undrawn and spreading kindness and love and acceptance throughout the universe. We're so new we're practically strangers, and Draco is so impolite he hasn't yet done a thing to change that sad fact."

"Er, right," Potter said, a furrow appearing between his eyes, but Draco thought he could see the brunet fighting a smile. "Well, hello then, Zabini. Parkinson." He nodded to them both in turn before smiling at Draco and shooting the arm Blaise had wrapped around Draco's shoulders with another pointed look. "Well, we should probably get going, Draco. We'll all, er, have to catch up another time, I s'pose."

"And may I ask what the two of you have planned for the evening?" Blaise wondered, still not letting go of Draco. "What exactly are your intentions for our Draco, hmm?" He leaned around Draco to trade a glance with Pansy. "We're all he has left in the world, you see, and seeing as how he's incapable of looking out for himself properly, Pansy and I have taken it upon ourselves to be the ones to look out for him. Like selfless, kind-hearted guardian angels," he beamed. "That is why Pans and I would like to know where you're taking him and what you'll be doing and what time you'll be bringing him back—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Draco snapped, shoving Blaise's arm away from himself, "You two are not my mum and dad, back off!"

"All we did was care about you," Blaise sniffed mournfully. "Is that really such a fault?"

"I didn't even say anything!" Pansy added, giving Blaise a hard look. "Blaise is the one acting like a nutter, not me! I'm the fucking normal one!"

"Neither of you is the normal one," Draco sighed, "You already know this, we've already gone over it. Many times. You are both equally mental. Congratulations, neither of you have lost this round."

"I wasn't even in this round!" Pansy argued, leveling Blaise with a glare. "I'm taking ten points away from you, Blaise, for being a maniac and getting me entered into rounds I never agreed to take part in."

"Oh, that's not how the rules work and you know it," he said in an airy voice, waving her feigned irritation away. "We can only _give _points, we can't take them away. Otherwise, I imagine we'd all be in the negative thousands by now."

"I'm not really sure what any of you lot are talking about," Potter said, sidling up to Draco and twining their hands together, "but I'm going to just be stealing this one now if you don't mind. I, er, promise not to bring him back too late?"

Draco sighed at his amused tone. "I don't have a bedtime, Potter, and even if I did, it certainly wouldn't be set by these prats. They're just jealous because I have plans that don't include them. Pansy here is going to spend the evening painting her nails or deciding which of her new robes gives her the best cleavage, and Blaise is most likely planning on taking advantage of my absence in the dorm by spending the entire evening wanking."

Blaise shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. "Well, the thought _had _crossed my mind, but now that I know I have your blessing…"

"Don't you dare cross over to my side of the room!" Draco said hotly. "And you had _better _wash your hands afterwards, you filthy pervert!"

"Oh relax," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Pansy and I are just going to be studying. I still have that Ancient Runes essay I need to finish and she's promised to quiz me. I already told you, we're bloody fucking angels, so just untwist your knickers already, darling, and stop spending so much time imagining me wanking, all right?"

"I do not—" Draco began in outrage but was cut off by Blaise.

"Apparently you do," he grinned. "You were the one who brought up wanking, not me. And you brought up _me _wanking specifically. Something you would like to admit to the group, Draco? This is a safe space, you know. We don't judge." He graded a grin with Pansy. "Much."

"Well, you lot can stay here and keep talking about wanking," Potter interrupted, snapping the attention onto himself, "and Draco and I will just be off."

"Be off to get off?" Blaise smirked. "A practical study?" He turned to Pansy with a mischievous look. "They're not just going to be _talking _about wanking, Pans, they're going to be _living _it."

"Aaand, we're leaving," Draco said, face flushed. Lord, he wanted to punch his friends sometimes. "I'll see you two twats later."

"I don't think it's twats that you'll be seeing later," Blaise laughed. "Would you like me to explain the differences between male and female anatomy? You see, Draco—"

"Come on, Harry, for fuck's sake," Draco muttered, tugging Potter away from the irritating monster parading around as Draco's best friend. Draco loved him, but sometimes he wanted to hex him.

"Don't do anything Pansy and I wouldn't," Blaise called after them, and Draco could still hear the smirk in his voice.

"That's a very low bar for morality, you realize," Draco called back, speeding up so the prat wouldn't have time to retort. "Sorry about them," Draco said, turning to Harry and jerking his chin back in the direction of Blaise. "Especially him. He was dropped on his head as a baby. Repeatedly. He's never fully recovered."

"I think they're funny," Potter smiled, stroking the back of Draco's hand with one thumb. "Although," his tone suddenly turned worried, "you don't really think about Zabini wanking, do you?" The look Draco gave him spoke volumes, and Harry laughed in relief. "Okay, good then," he said, sounding much happier. "I just—you two seem really comfortable around one another, and you apparently wear his clothes all the time, and he always has his damn arm around you, and—"

"Are you jealous of Blaise, Potter?" Draco interrupted, sounding amused. Was Harry actually jealous of Draco being touched by another boy, even a boy as irritating as Blaise?

"No!" Potter burst out, face flushing as he raked a hand through his hair. "Well, maybe, sometimes, just a bit," he amended, face still red. "But he just keeps touching you! And talking about your 'arse being in his trousers', and everything…" he trailed off in an embarrassed mumble, and Draco couldn't help but squeeze his hand in a sudden surge of affection.

"Are you saying you would rather my arse be in _your _trousers?" The moment the stupid question passed his lips, Draco turned bright pink, face darkening as Potter looked at him in surprise before laughing.

Without warning, he dropped Draco's hand and gripped him by the waist, spinning the blond around to slam him up against the nearest wall. "Yes," he said in a low voice, pressing a teasing kiss to Draco's lips. "I'm not even sure what that means, but definitely yes, that's _exactly _what I want."

Draco made a breathless noise in the back of his throat as he tangled one hand in the back of Potter's hair, holding tightly as Potter kissed him with a ferocity that Draco was beginning to suspect was entirely unique to the brunet. "Harry," he whispered, wrapping one arm around Potter's waist to pull him even harder up against his body.

"Fuck," Harry growled, running his hands over Draco's chest and sides. "Fuck, Draco."

"Not in the corridor, Harry," Draco groaned, feeling Harry chuckle against the skin of his throat as he spread kisses down to his collarbone.

"Come on, then," Potter panted. "I have a surprise for you."

"I think you're the one that has to move first," Draco said dryly, shaking his head in amusement.

Appearing reluctant, Potter pulled back and slipped his hand back into Draco's, tugging him down the narrow hallway.

"Where are we going?" Draco wondered, staring around in confusion. Everything around them was growing colder and darker; they were heading toward the furthest corner of the dungeons, the one that was deserted and rarely ventured by other students. Draco didn't even know what was down there; where was Potter taking them?

"I already told you, it's a surprise," Potter smiled, but there was a nervous air to them that only served to confuse Draco even more.

"Very well, then," Draco signed in resignation. "Surprise me."

"You'll love it," the brunet said, but there was an uncertainty to his voice that made Draco feel wary. Where the hell was Harry taking him?

His question was answered several minutes later when they came to a stop outside an old creaky-looking door cobwebbed in darkness and shadows. And far too many actual cobwebs. And far too many actual shadows as well. It did not look like an inviting sort of door.

With another nervous smile, Potter pushed the door open, gesturing for Draco to enter the spider-and-shadow-infested room ahead of him. Feeling just as nervous as Potter looked, Draco entered only to immediately stop short at the sight that met the blond. A low bed stood in the center of the room, the shape a bit uneven and the blankets a bit rough-looking, and Draco could instantly tell it had been Transfigured. There was a large squat jar nearby holding a flickering blue fire, gently illuminating the rather cozy-looking scene, and Draco felt his breath catch as the brunet behind him nudged him further into the room so he could shut the door.

"Potter…" Draco said, feeling nonplussed. What was…did this mean that Harry wanted to…

"What do you think?" Potter asked, sounding worried. "I know it's a bit…the fire-in-a-jar thing might be a bit weird, but Hermione taught me the spell a few years ago, and it was either that or candlelight, and I figured that candlelight would've made it look a bit too much like a cheesy 80's movie or something, so I decided the fire would be better, 'cos we have to be able to see, right?" He laughed nervously.

Draco's first thought was _What the hell is a 'movie'?_ It sounded odd. And most likely dangerous."I have no idea what any of that last part means," Draco admitted, still trying to take in the idea of Potter actually bringing Draco here for any of whatever it was that Potter was expecting them to do.

"Yeah, I'm not even sure what I'm saying right now," Harry said with an anxious chuckle. "I just…I just wanted to…"

"What, devirginize me?" Draco smirked, trying to ignore the heart attack he was surely only a second away from suffering. Had Harry Potter really brought him to that room for sex? Had he really planned out and thought ahead like that? Did Draco really even want to lose his virginity in such a premeditated plot? Or should he wait for such a thing to happen naturally in the passion of the moment? Not that he wanted to lose his virginity to Harry Potter or anything, of course. Right? Because everything between them had been part of some dumb plan and Draco really should back out now. He should tell Potter that he was moving too fast for Draco. Far, far too fast. In a direction that Draco was not even ready to travel in. Possibly in a direction that Draco was not even ready to _look_ in.

Harry chuckled again. "I just want whatever you'll allow me, Draco."

"What if…" Draco hesitated, not wanting to hurt Potter's feelings but feeling more than a bit uncomfortable with whatever it was that Potter wanted them to do.

"What if what?" the brunet prodded, stepping close enough to settle his hands on Draco's waist. "If you don't want this right now, Draco, that's fine, we can go do something else."

"I just don't…" Draco dropped his gaze to the floor. "I just don't know if I'm ready for…_this _yet." He wasn't sure at all what he was ready for, and the more time he was given to think about it, the more hesitant he was becoming.

"Then we'll wait," Harry shrugged, and Draco felt a warm swoop of _something_ pass through him. Maybe Pansy was wrong after all and gentlemen really did exist.

Draco almost thanked him for being so understanding but decided that thanking another person for being allowed to remain a virgin was maybe a weird thing to do. "You can still kiss me though, if you like," Draco breathed instead, and Harry smiled.

"That's an offer I'll certainly never turn down," the brunet murmured, right before capturing Draco's mouth in a gentle kiss. Draco slid his hands up Potter's chest to twist his fingers in the collar of Potter's t-shirt, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and feeling Harry tighten his hold on Draco's waist in response.

_Now this I'm more than okay with_, Draco thought to himself, feeling slightly dizzy. Ignoring the part of his mind wondering just why he was so okay with kissing Harry Potter or what that might mean (the same part growing louder and louder with every passing day) Draco did what he always did in such moments and locked those unwanted thoughts up tight in a tiny unopenable box with no key, throwing it down a bottomless chasm buried deep in his mind, and then—because it was his mind and he could bloody well break the laws of nature in his own mind if he wanted to, damn it—he shoved that chasm into an imaginary ocean, the same nameless ocean he threw every unwanted thought into, leaving all those unwanted thoughts and painful introspections to drown in an imaginary sea. It was a sea full of things he refused to dwell on or inspect, one with black waves and dead thoughts. It was a stupid sea that could only lead to stupid realizations about himself that Draco did not want to have to realize. He did not want to know the reasons why his body loved the feel of Harry pressed against him so much; all he knew was that it did. As long as he didn't look at any of the reasons behind that pleasure, he could continue to tell himself it was simply part of Blaise's plan.

And if he could feel himself hardening in his borrowed Muggle denims, well, that was most likely only because it was a part of the plan as well. Just because Draco had decided at the start of the plan that becoming aroused by Harry Potter would most definitely never actually be a part of the plan did not mean that the plan could not change. It was an ever-evolving plan with ever-evolving pleasures; Draco could live with that explanation. He was certainly easy-going enough for that explanation to work, right? He might be a _bit_ temperamental, but it was definitely a laid-back sort of temperamental.

"Draco," Harry groaned, kissing him harder, and Draco felt himself shiver at the raw _want_ in the other boy's voice. How was he supposed to keep them away from the bed and keep his thoughts away from ugly mental black chasm-filled oceans when Potter said his name in such a way? He could feel Harry's fingers flexing, squeezing and releasing his hips as he panted, and Draco suddenly realized that Harry was fighting the urge to move his hands lower.

"Not touching you right now is the hardest thing I've ever done," Potter admitted breathlessly, and Draco pulled back to grin at him.

"There have to be at least a dozen different innuendos I could make to that statement about hard things and the doing of them," he smirked, "if only I was crass and immature enough to do so."

Harry chuckled. "Yep, nobody embodies decorum and maturity more than you do, Malfoy."

"Exactly," Draco agreed with a solemn nod. "I'm glad we are in agreement." He was glad that he and Potter were on the same page regarding Draco's superior level of maturity. He was his very own level of maturity—he was Malfoy-level maturity, which was undoubtedly the highest level of maturity one could reach, and it was about damn time that Harry Potter acknowledged that.

Potter laughed lightly, sliding his arms around Draco's waist to pull him in for a tight embrace. "I am so fucking crazy about you, Draco Malfoy," he whispered into Draco's ear, biting down on the lobe before pressing a lingering kiss to the skin below it.

"You'd be crazy not to be crazy for me. I am clearly spectacular." Draco smiled, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt zip through him at the words. Harry sounded so sincere; he looked so sincere. How could Draco have ever thought that it would be okay to play around with someone's feelings like this? How could he have done something as horrible as deciding to ever go along with Blaise's plan? How could he have tricked Potter into this?

Sometimes, the world's hatred of Draco had absolutely nothing on his hatred of himself.

"I want to start telling people," Potter said unexpectedly, and Draco felt his brow furrow in confusion.

"Telling people how crazy they are for not fancying me?" Draco had more or less just assumed that that was a well-known and established fact by now, one that the world had long ago been forced to accept and deal with.

"No," Potter chuckled, pressing a kiss to Draco's furrowed brow. "Although that will definitely be implied. No, I—" he hesitated for a moment, "I want to tell people about _us_." At the suddenly terrified, uncertain look on Draco's face, Harry hurried to continue. "I mean, I'm not saying that I'll go around shouting about what a great kisser you are, but…"—Draco felt himself blush—"I would really like to start telling people that you're my boyfriend."

"Really?" Draco's knees felt weak. Potter was really willing to stand up to the nation and tell every one of his swarms of admirers and Draco's hordes of haters that the brunet had feelings for him? Draco had to fight the sudden hysterical laughter wanting to burst from his throat. He was already entrenched so fucking deeply in this stupid plan, and he could see no way out that would not make Harry hate him forever. Draco's very first relationship had been built entirely on deceit, and he would give anything to go back to before, to be given the chance to build something with Harry that was not constructed from dishonesty and founded on painful falsehoods.

And now Draco hated himself and Potter was wanting to go public.

"Yes, really," the brunet smiled, capturing Draco's mouth in a kiss. "I don't know how else I can tell you how much I like you, Draco. I never thought that any of this could ever actually happen. But now that it is, I want you and everyone else to know how serious I am about you. I—" But everything else was cut off as Draco leant forward to kiss him, seizing his face between two hands and kissing him as fiercely as he could, unable to help himself.

God, why did Harry Potter have to be so passionate and intense and overwhelming and kind and just—fucking _perfect_. Why was it that Draco could feel all those impenetrable emotional walls he had built between them years ago crumbling away more and more with every encounter? What was it about Harry Potter that Draco found so unable to fight against? What was it about Harry that got under Draco's skin, like a spark worming its way through his flesh and into his very blood, racing through his veins and spreading fire wherever it went? Why did Harry have to be so sodding honest and so impossibly brave and so uncaring about the opinions of others?

Why was Draco suddenly so desperate to touch every inch of him and be touched by him in return?

Deciding to bury every conflicting thought and every scrap of guilt and every shred of confusion—every single emotion that was not pleasure—down deep for the moment, Draco decided that it was time to just _feel_. Harry was willing to anger the entire world by publicly claiming Draco as his own, and Draco was suddenly longing to give the brunet something he obviously desired in return; he wanted to give Harry _something_, and if it couldn't be the dizzying honesty that Potter had just showered him with, then Draco would offer him the one thing he could.

Feeling faint from the thousand different emotions he couldn't possibly be feeling because he had buried them all down deep at the unreachable bottom of his imaginary ocean, Draco did something he had never done before and slipped his trembling fingers beneath the hem of Harry's shirt, sliding them up the bare skin of his back and hearing Potter inhale sharply in surprise.

"Harry," he whispered, and Potter made a low sound in his throat as he slowly, at a speed that made it clear he was not sure he was allowed to do such a thing, slowly dragged his hands down the length of Draco's back and lower, slipping them into the pockets of Draco's denims and lightly squeezing Draco's arse, earning an embarrassing squeak that was swallowed by the brunet.

After several seconds of Potter's hands on his arse and no reprimand for it, Harry groaned into the kiss and squeezed harder, pulling their lower bodies closer together. Draco returned the sound; he had never had anyone touch him there before, let alone in such a possessive manner. "Harry," Draco repeated, and Potter lifted one hand up to Draco's head, tangling his fingers in his hair and holding his head in place as he ravaged—there was no other word for it—Draco's mouth. He moaned, earning a low growl from Potter.

With difficulty, Draco managed to pull back far enough to catch his breath and speak. "You know, Potter," he panted, hands still exploring Harry's muscled back, "don't get too big an ego by thinking I'm complimenting you when I say this, but I think you actually might have been on to something with that whole bed idea."

"Really?" Potter asked in a low voice.

"It might have merit," the blond nodded, trying futilely not to blush. "I mean, I suppose we won't actually know until we test it, but it might just—"

His words were cut off as Harry leaned forward to kiss the breath right from his lungs, gripping Draco's shirt tightly with two hands and spinning them both around before beginning to march Draco backwards toward the bed. A sudden unexpected shove sent him sprawling back on the mattress, Potter grinning down at him before suddenly pouncing. One second he was standing there with a predatory light in his eyes, and the next second he was on top of Draco, pressing a thigh between Draco's legs in a way that made Draco cry out.

At the unexpected sound, Potter shoved his hands beneath Draco's shirt to drag his palms over every inch of Draco's stomach and up to his chest. "I'm not sure what you want or how far you're willing to go," he panted, eyes dark as he stared down at Draco in a way that made the blond shiver, "but anything you're not comfortable with, let me know. I only want what you want, Draco. Only what you want and only what you're comfortable doing."

"God," Draco said, wanting to complain but finding himself unable to, "stop being so fucking perfect for once in your life, Potter." On top of his long list of personal accomplishments and glowing personality traits, Harry also had to go and be the most considerate person Draco had ever met, the absolute fucking prat. Why was the Gryffindor continually doing things that made Draco want to both melt into a platinum-blond puddle and mock himself to death for his own sappiness at the same time? Why was Potter so intent on turning Draco into such a goddamn blasted Hufflepuff? Draco didn't want to be a Hufflepuff. Why did Potter want him to become such a bloody Hufflepuff?

Harry stroked Draco's cheek lightly with the very tips of his fingers, eyes twinkling down at Draco. "Perfect, huh?"

"Don't act like you don't know how stupidly perfect you are, you prat," Draco flushed, longing to close his eyes to hide from the intensity of Potter's stare.

"You're the one who used the word, not me," the brunet pointed out, combing his fingers gently through Draco's hair and, despite not wanting to feel as though he was hiding, his eyes couldn't help but flicker closed at the sensation.

"You're the one who made me use it," Draco told him, a small smile lighting up his face at the feeling of Harry's fingers raking over his scalp.

"I never made you use it," Potter snorted.

"Yes, you did," the blond argued, "by being yourself and having that self be almost offensively perfect. God, when did you stop being such a git anyway, you git?"

Harry laughed. "You know, I really want to disagree with you right now and list all the reasons why I know I'm not perfect, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't really, really love the idea of you thinking of me as perfect. It's definitely an improvement on how you used to think of me."

Draco hummed noncommittedly, pulling Harry down into a kiss. There was far too much talking and not enough touching; Draco couldn't even remember his earlier reasons for hesitating. They were obviously stupid reasons and Draco was proud of himself for having grown so much as a person in such a short amount of time by recognizing his mistakes and acknowledging the idiocy in them, because it was _clearly_ idiocy to deny how pleasant he found Harry's every touch to be—he wanted to feel it everywhere.

Potter pulled back to stare down at Draco with a complicated look. "Can I take your shirt off, Draco?" he asked quietly, studying Draco's face as though the answer was somehow spelled out in the Slytherin's expression.

"Okay," Draco nodded hesitantly, wanting it at the same time he felt nearly paralyzed by the fierce nerves pinning him in place. "But—" Harry's movements paused as he gazed down at Draco, waiting for him to finish his statement, "but…only if you take yours off, too."

"Deal," Harry smiled widely, looking as though Draco had offered him the moon and stars on a plate or the chance to have had a better childhood or a cure for global suffering or something else completely impossible and miraculous. He sat up to rip the shirt over his head before tossing it somewhere in the room, a breathless noise escaping him as Draco reached up to trail two trembling hands over his chest. "God, it's almost too good having you touch me," the Gryffindor admitted in a low voice, and Draco couldn't help but smirk.

"Oh, I haven't even started touching you yet, Harry Potter."

"_Fuck,"_ Potter exclaimed, bending back down to kiss Draco more fiercely than Draco could ever remember being kissed. "Off," the other boy mumbled into Draco's mouth, plucking at Draco's borrowed shirt. "This needs to come off."

"I already said you could take it off," Draco looked up at him in amusement.

Eyes flashing with heat, Harry placed his hands on Draco's waist and began dragging the shirt slowly up his stomach and chest, pausing to press a line of wet kisses along the center of his torso before helping Draco free from the offending article of clothing.

"Shirts are stupid," Harry decided, and Draco couldn't help but agree, running his hands over Potter's firm biceps.

"Good lord, Potter," he murmured, squeezing the hard muscles, "when did you stop being so scrawny?"

Harry grinned against his mouth. "I guess around the time I started being so perfect."

"Ah, there's the arrogant prat I used to know and mock," Draco smiled fondly.

Potter responded by tweaking one of Draco's nipples, laughing at the odd Pansy-esque squawk that escaped the blond. "That was an interesting sound," Harry said, a devilish light stealing into his gaze. "I wonder if I can make you do it again?"

Draco instantly reached up to slap Potter's hand away, shooting him the most threatening look he could manage whilst half-naked and aroused. "Don't you dare, Potter," he said sternly, hoping his threatening look was more threatening than foolish; he had a sinking feeling that it was coming across as far more foolish.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him "You think there's something I _won't _dare, Malfoy?"

"I will put my shirt back on!" Draco was pretty sure that he didn't actually want to put his shirt back on, but he was probably willing to do so to prove a point. Maybe. He certainly wouldn't enjoy it, but it would most likely happen if Potter pushed it. _Definitely probably_, he decided, _even if we both have to suffer as a result of Potter's stubborn pride_. _Proud stubborn fool._

"You have to go straight to the worst threat you can think of, don't you?" Harry shook his head in amusement.

"I think you've forgotten how diabolical I am," Draco said breathlessly, at the same moment Harry decided to bend down low enough to suck a wet kiss into the skin of his throat. Harry leaned back up to press his lips against Draco's own, and he wondered if he really was the diabolical one between the two of them.

"I know how delicious you are," Potter quipped, and Draco groaned at the line.

"That was awful, Potter," he told him, arching his back as Harry's hand ran down the side of his stomach to slip beneath the waistband of Draco's denims before smoothing back up to his neck.

"But still true," the other boy whispered against the dip between Draco's collarbones, tongue darting out to taste the skin and grinning when the action earned a shudder.

"Well, I could have told you that fact at any point throughout the entirety of the two of us knowing one another," Draco groaned. "You should have just asked."

"Trust me, Draco, I wanted to know," Potter said in a low voice, continuing to spread kisses over every inch of Draco's bare flesh, some gentle and some biting, and Draco felt himself growing even harder at the anticipation of trying to predict which one the next kiss would be.

Without warning, Harry ducked his head and took one of Draco's nipples in his mouth, licking around the area and gently tugging at the bud with his teeth, and Draco couldn't help the way his back arched or the sound that slipped from his throat. Feeling increasingly desperate, he ground himself against Potter as best he could, wondering if he was really ready for such an experience but knowing it was already far too late to stop. He could not remember anything in his life ever feeling as good as the sensation of Harry pressing back against him and nibbling his way across to the other side of Draco's chest.

"Draco," Harry moaned, "if you don't want to go any further, we should really stop right now, because I am about two seconds away from ripping these fucking jeans off you."

"Do it," Draco said instantly, desperate to have more of Potter pressed against him. "Do it, Harry."

"Oh, _fuck_," Harry growled, reaching between them to undo the fastenings to Draco's denims right as he claimed Draco's mouth in a furious kiss, one that made Draco's head swim and his heart go into overdrive, making him feel like he had been spinning in circles for hours, leaving him disoriented and breathless and unsure of which way was up and which way was down, unsure of what up and down even were at that point, all he knew at all in the world was that there was only Harry—nothing else existed.

The next thing he knew, Harry's warmth against his chest was gone and Draco was crying out at the sudden wet heat surrounding his cock as Harry swallowed him down in one quick go, pulling back the very next second to shoot the blond a questioning look. Draco nodded pleadingly in response, tangling the fingers of one hand in Harry's hair and fisting the other hand in the thin bedsheets as the brunet dragged the flat of his tongue up the shaft and breathed hotly over the wet skin; a shiver raked through Draco as he bit his lip on a moan. A warm tongue lightly danced over the very tip of Draco's cock, teasing little licks that made Draco want to scream with frustration at the same time he wanted the feeling to never end.

Deciding to take pity on him, Harry took him into his mouth once more, slowly lowering his head with a groan and pausing before pulling back with a hard, unexpected suck, and Draco's back arched off the bed before sinking back down onto the mattress with a moan. The blue light of the fire flickered and danced around the room, casting a strange otherworldly glow over everything, one that Draco couldn't help but find to be surprisingly appropriate for the moment. He was certainly feeling as though he was in another world, one yet unexplored and unknown to anyone but him; he was lost in a world all his own, submerged in a cerulean sea of pleasure where everything was aglow, everything flashed and leapt as though every surface in that room was just as alive as he felt in that moment.

"Harry," he gasped, the name ending on a sharp cry as Potter sucked hard before beginning to bob and twist his head. One warm palm wrapped around the base of Draco's cock and began stroking as best he could in time with his mouth, his rhythm just slightly off, but it was fine, everything was fine—everything in the entire world was the finest it had ever been; Draco hadn't even known that the world could _be _this fine.

But it was. It really, really was.

An incoherent garbled groan escaped him as Potter sped up his movements, and Draco was grateful that the brunet was no longer in a teasing mood. Draco needed to come—_now_; he needed to come five minutes ago; he needed to come the moment Harry had kissed him, the moment Harry had confessed his feelings for Draco.

And as he felt himself finally starting to crack, finally approaching the very edge of the cliff Harry had been pushing him toward, as a breathless cry escaped him at the same second the tense coil of white-hot flames within him exploded, Draco realized that he might just have feelings for Harry after all.

* * *

"Was that okay?" Potter asked, peering down at him with an unreadable expression as Draco climbed back into awareness, and he glanced around, wondering how long he had been trapped in the after-haze of pleasure.

"Yeah," he said quietly, unsure how to answer such a question. "Yeah, it was more than okay." Harry smiled, looking relieved. "Would you like me to…" Draco trailed off uncertainly, gesturing in the direction of Harry's waist, but the brunet shook his head.

"You, er, don't need to," he flushed, "I already…during…"

"Oh," Draco nodded, unable to fight the feeling of relief that surged through him at the other boy's words, at war with the strange sense of disappointment. Even stranger was the sudden insecurity that gripped him—did Harry not want Draco touching him like that? Was he worried that since Draco had never done anything like that with another boy, let alone another human being, that he wouldn't be any good and the brunet would not enjoy it?

"What made you change your mind though?" Harry asked, tugging the twisted blankets out from under Draco's bum and pulling the scratchy fabric up over the two of them. He snuggled up to Draco and dropped several kisses on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around Draco's waist and sighing contentedly. The whole thing made Draco want to stay there forever at the same time it made him want to scramble away. And then maybe run from the room. And then maybe never stop running.

He decided, however, that that might just make him look a bit insane and he definitely preferred not being seen as insane, so maybe staying still really would be the better option. "I'm not sure," he shrugged, feeling his shoulder bump up against Potter's mouth, who bit down on it playfully. "Did you really mean what you said, about wanting to tell the school about us?"

Immediately, Potter released his shoulder to glance up at him in surprise. "Of course I meant it, Draco! I wasn't lying to you just to get you in bed, or something. I would never, ever do something like that! I would never lie to you about how I feel."

Hot guilt erupted in Draco's stomach as he realized that that was exactly what he had just done—he was in bed with Potter, and he had lied to get there. He had lied to get Potter to offer exactly what he was offering, which was to become a couple just so Harry would then announce it to the school, and the thought made Draco want to claw at himself. Oh god, Harry would never forgive him if he found out. He would hate Draco forever, and Draco would deserve it. He would deserve every ounce of it.

"I know that," he muttered, glancing away with a tight expression.

"What's wrong then?" Harry pressed, leaning up on one elbow to better see Draco's face, and Draco started to seriously reconsider the whole running-from-the-room plan he had had earlier. Damn it, he knew it had been the better plan.

"Nothing," Draco said tensely, now feeling embarrassment settle on top of his already confusing swirl of emotion that had somehow become unburied. Why weren't they still buried? They were supposed to be buried!

"Draco," Harry said, trying to turn Draco's head back around to face the brunet, but Draco could not look at him. "Do you regret what happened now or something? Are you angry at me for pushing you into it?"

"No!" Draco grit out, sitting up and looking for his jeans, finally spying them on the floor near the end of the bed. He snatched them up and jammed them on, suddenly desperate to get out of that room. He couldn't be there, he couldn't be around Harry, he couldn't even look at Harry. Oh god, what had Draco done? Why was he the world's most horrible person?

Second worst, he amended. Blaise was the one who came up with the stupid horrible plan in the first place—Draco was just the stupid horrible idiot who had decided to go along with it. Blaise was a bastard, Draco was a moron, and Harry was a gullible kind-hearted git, one who was grabbing at Draco's upper arm to keep him from fleeing.

"Draco, what's wrong?" he demanded, still holding tight.

"Let go of me, Potter!" Draco ground out, wrenching his arm away and nearly falling when Harry suddenly released him.

"Just tell me what I did!" the other boy begged, and Draco closed his eyes, breathing heavily, before opening them and snatching up the first shirt he saw, throwing it on as quickly as he could.

"Nothing," he snapped, deciding his shoes could go fuck themselves; he needed to leave. Now. "You didn't do anything, Potter! You're not the one who did something wrong, all right?"

"But what does that mean?" Harry scrambled after him. "Are you seriously leaving? Draco, what the hell is going on? Just talk to me!"

"I just—need to think," Draco muttered, hurrying toward the door. "Fuck, Potter, I can't—I-I just need to think!"

"Please don't leave," a voice whispered behind him, and Draco paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Just tell me what happened. We were just talking, I don't even know what happened."

But how could Draco tell him when he didn't even know himself? All he knew was that his insides were squirming with guilt and burning shame and he could not look Potter in the eye and he needed to leave; he needed to have already left; he needed to have never been there.

"I'll tell you when I figure that out myself," Draco said under his breath. "I'm sorry, Harry, really, but—" he shrugged helplessly, deciding retreat was his best and only option. Twisting the knob, he flung open the door and escaped into the corridor, hurrying back to the dorm. He wasn't sure if Potter would race after him or decide to get dressed first—but the one thing Draco knew the other boy would not do was accept defeat so easily. Harry Potter didn't even know what the word 'defeat' meant. But how was Draco ever going to be able to face him again?

Half-running back to the common room, he shouted the password at the wall and hurried inside, not slowing his frantic pace. As he threw open the door to his dorm, he took a brief second to be proud of himself as Pansy jumped in fright and made her odd flamingo noise at the sound of the door hitting the wall. He stopped being proud of himself, however, when the door bounced off the wall and swung back to nearly smack him in the face. _Stupid door_; _I'll show you, _he thought to himself, slamming it extra hard behind himself as he stomped into the room.

"What the hell happened to you? Why are you barefoot" Blaise asked, eyeing Draco curiously. "And where the hell did my shirt go?"

Glancing down at himself in surprise, Draco was shocked to see Potter's t-shirt on himself; he supposed in his panic to escape, he had grabbed it up by mistake.

"Oh, I…um…" he trailed off, unsure what to follow the non-explanation with. He couldn't tell them what had happened; he still wasn't even certain himself. Everything had seemed to happen so quickly, and he wasn't sure how it had gotten to that point or why he had been so desperate to leave. He couldn't believe he had run away from Harry like that, after…_that._

"You totally let him shag you, didn't you?" Pansy smirked, and Draco glared, deciding he liked her better when she was frightened and making weird bird noises in terror.

"No!" he snapped, crossing over to his side of the room to shove her off his bed.

"Well, something definitely happened," her smirk widened as she walked over to sink down onto Blaise's mattress instead. "Something that necessitated the removal of both of your shirts."

He glared harder. "You don't know anything."

"You let him suck you off, didn't you?" she grinned, and Draco's glare melted away to be replaced by shock. "Ha! I knew it!" she crowed, and Draco wondered how upset she would be with him if he were to hex her dumb mouth off her dumb smug face.

"How was he?" Blaise asked casually, setting his notes aside. "Were you the first bloke he's ever sucked? Was he all trembling innocence and insecurity? Or wild Gryffindor enthusiasm? Did he ask permission first, like a gentleman, or did he just hold you down and go for it?"

"He would never do that, that's not who he is," Draco shot back, regretting his words at the twin smirks that stole over the faces of the other two Slytherins.

"So you did give him permission then," Blaise said, settling more comfortably back against his pillows.

"Pay up, Blaise!" Pansy said in an excited voice, and Blaise sighed as he moved to retrieve a shining Galleon from his bedside table.

"You two are _still _betting on me?!" Draco asked angrily, and they both shrugged unrepentantly and nodded.

"It's fun," Pansy explained, and Blaise nodded again with an innocent smile.

"Well, it ends now," Draco sniffed, flopping onto his bed and glaring up at the ceiling. "Potter and I are over, the plan has failed, and your stupid bets are finished."

"Was he that bad?" Blaise asked, mattress squeaking as he sat up.

"No!" Draco ground out, glaring harder.

"Well, what happened then?" Pansy wondered, getting up to sit beside Draco, and Draco considered shoving her off the bed again but decided not to. She, at least, sounded like she cared.

"I hate you, Blaise," Draco told him, lifting his head to glare at the dark-skinned boy across the room.

"What did I do?" Blaise asked in bewilderment. "I was just sitting here!"

Draco sat up suddenly, glare sharpening. "You're the one who pushed me into this stupid plan in the first place! I would never even have thought of it if you hadn't been the one to suggest it!"

"Yeah, but you're the one who agreed to it," Blaise pointed out, still looking confused. "And I don't understand why that means you hate me now."

"Because!" Draco yelled. "Because Potter wanted to tell the school about us, all right? He kept telling me how much he likes me and how he wants to be able to tell people about us and he was asking for my fucking _permission_ to do so! And then he sucked me off and it was fucking _fantastic_, all right?! And it's all your fucking fault, Blaise, you stupid prat, so now I hate you!"

They both stared at him in surprise, and the longer they remained silent, the pinker Draco turned.

"So," Blaise finally said, breaking the silence, "you're angry with me because you blame me for getting you a supposedly fantastic blowjob from the most famous and possibly the most chivalrous person in the entire nation?"

"No!" Draco shouted, wanting to hit something. "I'm angry because you pushed me into a stupid plan that is _stupid!_ Potter's too nice to mess about like this! He's in love with me and I'm taking advantage just to get my reputation back because of _you!_ He was willing to tell everybody about us and all I've done is fucking lie to him!"

"You feel guilty," Pansy cut in, sounding awed. "Draco, you feel guilty about letting him go down on you. Draco Malfoy feels guilty for taking advantage of another person. I never thought I would ever see this day—is this really happening? Quick, someone pinch me!"

Feeling more than happy to, Draco turned to her with a scowl, but she scrambled off the bed before he could reach her. "Not you!" she cried, "I don't want _you_ to pinch me! You're way too angry, you'd probably take a chunk of my arm off!"

"Draco, do you really feel bad?" Blaise asked, sounding serious.

"No," Draco drawled sarcastically, flopping back on his bed and listening to the mattress creak as he bounced several times. "I feel fucking wonderful, Blaise, about everything. This is just my happy face. Idiot."

"You shouldn't feel bad," Blaise said, in what Draco was sure the boy thought was a comforting voice. "You didn't take advantage. Didn't you say that Potter was the one to ask you if he could go down on you?"

"That doesn't mean a fucking thing!" Draco ground out. "That doesn't mean that I didn't take advantage! And I really hate the phrase 'take advantage'!"

"Oh please," Blaise snorted, "you act like sex is an entirely selfless act. Sex is selfish! Everyone wants pleasure for _themselves_ in sex! You can't take advantage in a situation that's already driven by self-interest! I mean, I'm sure he expected you to return the favor, didn't he?"

"No," Draco turned his head to glare at him. "He didn't. He even said before anything started that he was fine waiting for as long as I needed. You don't know him, Blaise. He would never do what I just did!"

"Well, if you're wanting to compare yourself to the Golden Boy," Blaise rolled his eyes, "of course you're going to find yourself lacking, especially in regards to his insane sense of morality. Nobody in the entire nation can measure up to his daft level of selflessness and ethics. He's still just a bloke though, and every bloke wants sex strictly for the sake of sex. Pansy, you're our self-proclaimed resident expert on all things male sexuality, help me out here."

"Was he really not upset that you didn't return the favor?" she wondered, sounding perplexed.

"Well," Draco blushed, "he said I didn't need to. 'Cos he had already…"

"Ah," she said knowingly, and Draco hated that tone from her. Who had ever told her that she was as wise as she seemed to think she was?

"What does that even mean?" the blond grumbled. "That doesn't even mean anything! Neither of you knows what you're talking about!"

She shrugged. "As I've said, Draco, I've been with far more blokes than you have. And I tend to agree with Blaise—sex is selfish by nature. You can't measure selflessness against it."

"You two are both idiots," Draco decided, knowing he was right. They were the wrong ones; what did they even know, anyway? Draco had taken advantage and Potter would hate him forever when he found out. "You seem to be forgetting that everything you just described is not the way he's going to look at things! All he's going to see is a horrible Slytherin bastard lying to him and tricking him into bed! And he'll be right because that's exactly what happened!"

"Holy shit, Draco," Blaise mused, voice heavy with surprised amazement, "you really are upset about this. I've never seen you express guilt before. It's strange."

"Oh, sod off," the blond sighed. "You have no idea the type of person he is, all right? I should never have agreed to this stupid plan." He hesitated a moment before admitting, "He's going to hate me. He's going to hate me when he finds out."

"Why would he find out?" Pansy tilted her head. "Did you tell him the truth before you left?"

"No," Draco answered, feeling his insides slowly turning numb. He had no idea what to feel anymore, and it seemed as though his body had decided to feel nothing as a result.

"Then he won't find out," she said simply. "The only ones who know what the plan ever even was are the three of us. And Blaise and I are certainly not planning on telling. So just don't tell him, Draco."

"He can't hate you if he never finds out," Blaise added, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because lies are such a great way to start out a lasting relationship," he huffed.

"But this isn't a real relationship," the other boy pointed out, and Draco felt himself deflate with disappointment.

"Oh. Right," he sighed morosely. Of course it wasn't a real relationship—it had never been real, and due to the amount of lying Draco had already done, it would never, ever be real.

"Do you want it to be?" Pansy wondered, moving back to sit next to Draco—a risk on her part, really, seeing as Draco had not yet decided whether he still wanted to pinch her.

"Of course not," he muttered, feeling as though there was an overly-bright spotlight shining down on him. Why was everyone always wanting to drag his private, personal feelings out of him against his will? He was working his hardest to keep every emotion buried within him, and every bastard in the world seemed to want nothing more than to unearth every single hated one. Damn it, he kept them buried for a reason!

"It's okay if you do, you know," Pansy said gently, patting his leg, and at that, Draco really did pinch her. "Ow!" she squawked, rubbing her arm. "You twat, I was being nice! I take it back, it's not okay!"

"Those sounds you make are really funny, you know, Pans," Blaise grinned. "You sound like a parrot or something."

"A flamingo," Draco corrected automatically, unable to stop himself from trading a snigger with Blaise.

"That's it!" Blaise snapped his fingers. "A flamingo! Pansy, you sound like a flamingo!"

She squawked in offense and both boys grinned. "I do not! You mean those weird pink birds with the weird heads who spend all day eating _shrimp?! _You don't even know what they sound like!"

"They sound like you," Draco told her, and she smacked his leg in response.

"Besides," Blaise cut in, still grinning, "we don't need to know what they sound like. They look like they would sound like what you sound like. So that's what you sound like."

"Oh fuck off, you pair of cunts," she said crossly, folding her arms.

"At least we're not flamingos," Draco sang, moving his leg away in case she decided to hit it again.

"How is being a cunt better than being a flamingo?" she asked incredulously. "At least flamingos are a pretty color. _You're_ just a shitty person."

"Are you saying there's not a single flamingo in this world who is not a class-A cunt?" Draco raised one eyebrow. He had no idea how many flamingos existed in the world, but he was sure at least one of them had to be a total twat.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not in this room," she said dangerously, and he decided—rather wisely—not to push the point.

"I'm sure the one and only cunty flamingo resides far, far away from here, in Flamingo Land, where the flamingos live," he told her, voice serious as he patted her arm, and she shoved him away with a roll of her eyes, lips twitching.

"Did you really end things with Potter, though, Draco?" Blaise interrupted, and Draco sighed as he realized they were going to continue talking about his shame. Why couldn't they just stick with discussing flamingos?

"Well, I didn't say those exact words," he fidgeted uncomfortably, "but I left pretty much the very minute after it was over."

"By which you mean you ran out of there terrified," Blaise corrected, and Draco glared.

"I didn't run out, I left!" he disagreed vehemently. "I don't run away from things!" The two of them gave him a single look that spoke volumes. "I don't run away from things!" he insisted.

"Oh please," Blaise snorted, "the way you burst in here all out of breath and wild-eyed? You definitely ran away. Plus, you know, there's who you are as a person, which is a person who runs away from things. You act like Pansy and I haven't known you for years."

"You do tend to run from your feelings, darling," Pansy said, "and we all know that there's nothing that scares you more than genuine feelings. You can't handle feeling vulnerable. So whenever you feel vulnerable, you leave the situation. And you usually leave that situation by running, usually as far away as possible."

"I'm about to run from this conversation," Draco muttered, wanting the horribleness to be over already.

"Yes," Pansy said patiently, "because you're feeling vulnerable."

"Look, Draco," Blaise said, "how can you be taking advantage of Potter if he's getting something out of this as well? He wanted to go down on you and you let him. From all the love bites and mussed hair you've been coming back here with lately, I know for a fact that you're not being passive or resistant in the amount of physicality you two have been engaging in. He's getting what he wants, which is to be with you. You should be getting something out of this as well, which is getting your name dragged out of the mud. You have the chance to be seen as a real person again, Draco, and not the evil villain for once. You have the chance to be liked again, we all do. Potter can do so much for you if only you'd let him. And it sounds like he wants to do it all for you, so just let him."

"Even if I hate myself for it?" Draco asked in a quiet voice. He could feel more than see the other two exchange a heavy look.

"Would you rather have Potter hate you for telling him?" Blaise asked in the same quiet voice. "So maybe things between you two didn't start out the way they should have, but if you've changed your mind and decided you really do want to be with him, then just be with him, I don't see the problem."

"You're with him already," Pansy said, patting Draco on the leg again, but this time, he let her. "Blaise is right. If you like him now, it can be real now, it doesn't need to be just some plan that the three of us cooked up in secret. He doesn't ever need to know."

"I suppose…" Draco muttered, still feeling guilt spiral through him. Would that really work? Did that not still make him an awful person? Did he not owe it to Harry to tell him the truth? Or would that confession only hurt the both of them unnecessarily? Draco didn't want to hurt Harry; would it just be better to keep quiet? Draco had no idea what to do!

"Why tell him the truth and make the both of you miserable when you could not tell him anything and make the both of you happy?" Pansy reasoned, reading Draco's mind perfectly.

"Yeah, Draco," Blaise chimed in, "we don't care that you're bent now, and Potter's always thought you were bent. So just, you know, be bent. With Potter."

"Oh, go to hell," Draco sighed.

"And this would explain why you had no interest in returning the favor for me that one time I sucked you off," mused Pansy thoughtfully, and Draco swatted at her with his bare foot.

"Or it could have to do with you specifically as a person," he pointed out, and she reached out to slap his leg sharply.

"No, it was because you're bent," she warned, one hand still raised in a threatening manner.

"Fine, sure, whatever," he rolled his eyes. "It was because I'm bent." Even though Draco wasn't sure if he actually was bent. He had no idea what he was, all he knew was that nothing had ever felt as amazing as the feeling of Harry touching him—a feeling he wanted to experience again more than anything. "Fine," he said suddenly, coming to a decision. "Fine, I won't tell him." If that was the only way to keep the brunet, maybe it really would be better to just simply never tell him.

"Thank god," Blaise said in relief, and Draco raised one questioning eyebrow at him. "Now we all get our good names back," he explained.

"You only care about yourself here," Draco frowned.

Blaise gave him a look. "You say that like you haven't known me for years."

"I suppose I'll just give up on there ever coming a day when you decide to actually choose to better yourself," Draco said sarcastically.

Blaise grinned. "Yeah, that would definitely save you some later disappointment in life if you were to do that right now."

"Good," Draco sniffed, "then consider yourself given up on."

"Fine, sure, whatever," Blaise drawled, smirking at Draco as he repeated his earlier words back to him.

"Whatever to you, I'm going to bed," Draco announced, poking Pansy in the side to nudge her off his mattress. Collecting his pyjamas, he crossed the dorm to head to the bathroom, but Pansy's voice stopped him before he could.

"Draco?" He turned back to face her. "Sixty points for being honest with us."

Nodding, he turned away with a frown. _Yeah_, he thought miserably, _but how many points have I already lost for the lies?_

* * *

A/N: Aww, poor sad guilty Draco :/ And poor sad confused Harry :/ But don't worry, the lovebirds can never stay parted for long! Basically however long it takes me to get the next chapter up will be how long they're separated. Sooo hopefully not very long at all :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: In which rifts are mended, animal comparisons are made, Interhouse friendships are bridged, and points are given.

p.s. Thank you to everyone who's left reviews :) This chapter is dedicated to all you lovely beautiful humans and all your lovely beautiful comments :)

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Draco!"

A sudden voice snapped the attention of all three Slytherins to the right, their heads swiveling as one, and Draco felt his eyes widen in panic at the sight of Potter standing outside the entrance to the common room, leaning against the opposite wall; Draco wondered how long the brunet had been waiting there. How early had he woken up to come down to the dungeons to wait for Draco to emerge? The other boy pushed away from the edge of the corridor and walked slowly over to the blond, glancing at Pansy and Blaise standing just behind Draco.

"Hey," Potter said, and Draco was surprised at the air of nervousness that hung over him like a storm cloud; it was so strong that Draco could nearly taste Potter's anxiety.

"Hey," he returned the greeting quietly, half-turning his head to shoot Pansy and Blaise a pointed look, one the gits chose to ignore.

"Can I, er, talk to you?" Harry rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Alone?"

"Oh, don't mind us," Blaise said with a cheeky grin, one that made Draco want to hit him.

"Come on, Blaise," Pansy sighed, placing one hand on Draco's shoulder in comfort and squeezing briefly before grabbing Blaise by the arm and forcibly steering the nosy prat away. Draco heard the other boy start to protest before Pansy shushed him, and Draco felt a sudden surge of affection for the girl, even if a shushing was not as good as a sharp smack. Draco would have preferred the sharp smack, really. Harry and Draco silently watched the two Slytherins disappear up the corridor, the air between them now drenched in silence and awkward tension, and Draco had no idea what to say.

"So," Potter began, cheeks pink, "can we talk then?"

"All right," Draco said cautiously, unsure what Potter wished to say or how Draco was meant to respond. Was he there to yell at Draco for his rudeness last night? Well, he hardly needed to—Draco had yelled at himself enough for the both of them. Not out loud, of course, since that would make him look deranged and Draco had already decided long ago that he was definitely _not _deranged. But he had certainly let himself have it in the private safety of his own mind. Yelling at oneself in the privacy of one's mind did not make a person crazy—it was only when they did the same thing aloud that the insanity had clearly already set in. And Draco's insanity was far away from setting in, if it ever even would set in, which it obviously wouldn't, because Draco had decided that it wouldn't. _Right, Draco? _he thought to himself, wondering in the very next second if addressing himself like that in his own mind was perhaps the beginning of insanity setting in but decided it wasn't because, well, it just _wasn't_.

"Can we…go somewhere private?" Potter asked hesitantly.

Nodding, Draco resigned himself to an unpleasant conversation as he gestured for Potter to lead the way.

"I, er, brought you some breakfast," Harry said, sounding awkward as he held up a small stack of buttered toast on a plate that Draco had not even noticed him holding. "I mean, if you want it." His cheeks were rosy with embarrassment, and Draco felt himself melt a little at both the sight and the thoughtful gesture. Maybe Draco wouldn't be yelled at after all.

"Okay, thank you," he said down to the floor, reaching out to take the stack from Potter. He didn't actually want any toast, his stomach feeling far too squirmy for food, but decided it would have been far too rude to refuse since the git had already gone and got it for him like the overly-considerate prat he was. "Here, you have one too." He held out the plate for the brunet to take a piece, but Harry shook his head.

"No, they're for you," he told him, jamming his hands in his pockets and appearing uncomfortable.

"Potter," Draco said pointedly, "I cannot be the only one to eat an awkward breakfast while you watch on even more awkwardly. So just take one and I'll feel slightly less awkward about the whole thing, okay?"

A brief grin flashed across Harry's face. "Okay," he murmured, reaching out to pluck a piece of toast from the top of the stack and staring down at it for a moment before taking a bite, as though it had been telling him something important.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Draco took a bite from his own toast as well, setting it back down on the plate and wondering where they were headed, or if they were even headed anywhere. Maybe they were just wandering.

Without warning, Harry turned his head to fix Draco with a serious stare. "Why did you leave last night?"

"I—uh, well—" Draco stuttered, not expecting to be asked in such a direct manner.

"I spent the entire night trying to figure out what went wrong," Harry frowned, setting his toast on top of Draco's.

"Can we maybe not have this conversation out in the open like this?" Draco asked uneasily, glancing around the two of them. The corridor was deserted but that didn't mean anything; spies were hardly very likely to hide out in the open, were they? Not if they were good spies, at any rate. And they were in Slytherin territory—home of the world's sneakiest spies. Draco narrowed his eyes as he glanced around—there was a suit of armor further down the hallway that Draco thought looked oddly suspicious. Nosy suit of armor, obviously trying to listen in on private conversations instead of being hollow and inanimate and earless like it should be.

Potter gave him a complicated look. "All right," he said finally, gesturing ahead of them, "I think there's an empty room up there." The walk was made in absolute silence, Draco spending the brief time trying to collect his thoughts. What would he say to Potter? What was a good enough excuse for his behavior?

"In here," Potter said quietly, holding open the door for Draco, who averted his eyes as he stepped through the frame into the empty room. Immediately, he marched over to a dusty desk along the wall and set the plate of mostly-uneaten toast down, glancing around the dim room and trying to ignore the feeling of Potter staring at him.

"Why did you leave last night, Draco?" Potter asked again, and Draco found he could not look at him. "Why did you just—you didn't even say anything, you just _left!_ I don't understand!" He sounded hurt and confused and all sorts of other horrible emotions that Draco did not want to name.

Half-turning his head, Draco saw that Potter was facing away from him, speaking to the far wall, and the sight twisted something in Draco's chest. "I'm sorry," he said helplessly, unsure how to handle the situation. How could he navigate through a situation rife with so many feelings that he was not accustomed to dealing with? Draco was so terrible at feelings, both at having feelings and at understanding his feelings. What should he do? What could he say that would make everything better?

"Just tell me what happened," Potter said, voice somehow both firm and soft, warm and cold, determined and uncertain, and Draco hated that he was still speaking to the wall. "Were you upset with me? Did I do something to make you angry? Did I push you too far before you were ready? _What_, Draco?"

"Harry…" Draco trailed off uncertainly. "It—it wasn't you. You didn't do anything, you're not the reason. It was _me_, okay?"

Potter laughed hollowly. "Well, that definitely sounds like a break-up line. Is that why you left? Is that what you're trying to say? You don't want to see me anymore?"

"No!" Draco half-shouted, and Potter turned his head in surprise. "No, I just—" Well, if Draco could not be completely honest with the other boy, he would have to settle for a half-truth. "I was scared, all right? You were talking about telling the whole school about us! I just—I panicked a bit. I'm sorry."

Harry stared at him in surprise and no small amount of hurt. "Is it really such a bad thing to be seen as my boyfriend?"

"I-I—well—Potter," Draco floundered, hating himself more and more as every stammer increased the amount of hurt on Potter's face.

"It's not like I was going to take out an advert for it in the _Prophet_ or anything, you know," Potter continued, crossing his arms. "I wasn't going to ask McGonagall to make a speech about us at dinner or propose to you in the Great Hall or anything else daft like that. It's not even about other people knowing, it's about not having to feel like we're each other's secrets! I spent years living with people who tried their hardest to keep me a secret from the entire world because they were ashamed of me; I can't go through that again, Draco, not with someone who's supposed to actually care about me." He was glaring at the floor now, words steeped in pain, and Draco wanted to hex himself. How had he forgotten about Harry's horrible relatives? Of course Potter would not be able to handle such a thing as being kept secret; it was selfish of Draco to assume that the brunet ever could have been.

"That wasn't my intention," he said in a small voice, wanting to step closer to Potter but scared to do so. "I wasn't trying to remind you of such an awful time, Harry, and I certainly wasn't trying to keep you a secret. I just don't…I mean…have you forgotten who I am?!" he burst loudly, wanting to feel amused at the way Harry startled at the unexpected volume but the situation was far too tense for any sort of amusement.

Harry's glare shot up to land on Draco. "If this is going to be some rant about how you're a Malfoy and as a Malfoy you have certain expectations placed on you about who you're seen in public with, blah blah blah, blood purity, blah blah only purebloods are acceptable and your father will gut anyone who doesn't meet his approved checklist blah blah blah…"

It was Draco's turn to glare, the expression making Harry's words trail off into silence. "I am going to overlook that," he said coldly, "based on the fact that I was the first to upset you." Okay, so Harry clearly still had some issues about who Draco was. Had been. Was? He had no idea anymore and decided that that was another thought that could sink down to the bottom of his mental ocean where all the unwanted thoughts lay buried in nameless, ignored graves. "And that's not what I meant. You're an idiot if you think that _you_ are in any way unacceptable for any single person in this world to be seen in public with."

"Well, what then?" Harry asked in a subdued voice.

"I meant," Draco huffed, "are you forgetting _who I am? _Because you're right, I _am_ a Malfoy. And I'm not sure if you've noticed, but people nowadays don't really react too kindly to the name _Malfoy_. To put it in terms so blunt even you will understand, Potter, they hate me. The entire world fucking hates me, all right? And you want to be seen with that? You want to publicly claim that? You want to be tied in such a way to a name with as many negative connotations as mine? Do you really want that? Have you even really thought this through?"

Harry glanced up in surprise, staring at Draco for entire centuries before finally speaking. "Yes," he said simply.

"Yes?" Draco's nose scrunched in confusion. "Yes what?"

"Yes to all of it," Harry shrugged. "Yes, I know exactly who you are. And yes, I know what other people think of you. And yes, I've thought everything through. And I already decided that I don't give a shit and I still want to be with you."

Draco stared. All he could do was stare. His mind had come to a screeching halt at Harry's words—he had been expecting the brunet to go wide-eyed with sudden realization and bolt from the room; he had not been expecting _this_. Would Draco ever stop being surprised by Harry Potter?

"You're an idiot," he whispered, unable to stop himself from taking a small step forward.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, but I'm _your_ idiot."

A weak laugh escaped Draco as he took another tiny step forward. "Christ, Potter, you really are a fool."

His smile widened. "Yeah, but I'm _your _fool."

Draco shook his head in reluctant amusement. "Is this your way of refusing to be insulted when I try to insult you?"

"Oh, is that what you were trying to do?" Harry grinned, taking several steps closer until they were standing only inches apart. "I hadn't even noticed."

Draco snorted softly. "Prat."

"Yeah, but I'm _your_—"

"Are you going to stop being such a twat already?" Draco interrupted, sounding exasperated.

Harry grinned wider. "Yeah, but I'm _your _twat." Both boys stared at one another before cracking up. "Okay, you're right, I should have stopped earlier," Potter allowed, shaking his head with a smile. "That just didn't sound right, did it?"

"Very little you say does," Draco returned the smile.

"So does this mean you're not angry with me anymore?" Harry wondered, settling one hand against the side of Draco's neck.

"I was never angry with you," the blond admitted, feeling his cheeks grow hot. _I was angry with myself_.

"Well, that's good then," the other boy smiled. "I like when people aren't angry with me."

"Oh, like anybody ever is," Draco sniffed, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart.

Harry raised one eyebrow. "You know, I think you have a very overinflated idea of how people see me."

"No," Draco argued, "you just have an underinflated idea of how people see you. You see yourself as normal and expect others to see you the same way."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I am normal, Draco."

"You're naïve, is what you are," Draco muttered. How could Harry not look at himself and all his impossible achievements and see how extraordinary he really was?

"Hence one reason I'm so normal," Harry smirked, and Draco decided that arguing with a blind man about what the world really looked like was pointless—people saw things the way they wanted to see them. If Harry Potter wanted to think of himself as normal, then all Draco could do was pat him on the head and go along with it.

"I already told you, you're a fool," Draco returned the smirk, "and fools are far too common, so I suppose you really are normal."

"Unless I'm so foolish it makes me abnormal," Potter stepped closer, "hence, better than normal."

"Okay, what the fuck are we even arguing now?" Draco demanded, unsure what the hell the prat was trying to say.

Harry laughed. "I have no idea. I think we tend to argue with one another just for the sake of it."

"Every couple has their quirks, I suppose," Draco allowed with a smile.

Potter's breath caught. "Does that mean we really are a couple, then? Like, a couple couple?"

"What, like a quadruple?" Draco raised one eyebrow.

"No," Harry rolled his eyes, "you know what I mean."

"I know your diction needs work."

"You know what I mean, Draco," the brunet insisted, and Draco sighed.

"Yes, Potter, fine," he grumbled. "We're a couple couple. We're a fucking quadruple if you like. Happy?"

"Incredibly," Harry chuckled, wrapping one arm around Draco's waist and using his other hand to tilt Draco's chin up for a kiss.

Draco wanted to reply with sarcasm but decided that perhaps kissing was the more enjoyable response. He twined his own arms around Harry as he deepened the kiss, wondering how he had almost ever walked away from such a thing. He could never tell Harry the truth and risk jeopardizing what they had; all he could do was try to make up for it now.

All he could do was hope Harry never found out.

* * *

"So, you two fix everything then?" Pansy asked as she gathered her books together. The other two had not had a chance to question Draco until now; he had only just made it to class on time, slipping into the room and ignoring the pointed looks and smirks on the faces of his friends.

"Nothing was ever broken, I don't know what you're talking about," Draco sniffed, trying to ignore the question. He did not want to have to explain everything that had happened and everything he had felt about it; he still wasn't sure _how_ he felt about it. In fact, he was starting to think that he didn't really know very much about himself, or about anything, really. Would he ever understand his own feelings or motivations?

"Don't make me say it louder, Draco," Pansy warned, falling into step beside him as they made their way from the room. "Because I will. And I will use full names if I need to."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You are such a fucking flamingo sometimes, you know."

"I didn't even make a bird noise!" she squawked indignantly, earning a laugh from both boys.

"You sort of just did, Pans," Blaise pointed out, grinning.

"Yeah, but not before!" she grumbled. "And I do not sound like a fucking flamingo!"

Draco shrugged. "I've decided it's my new favorite insult for you. It's funny how offended you get."

"Yeah," Pansy narrowed her eyes, "well _you're _a…" she trailed off, face scrunching as she tried to think of an animal insulting enough.

"Oh, come on," Blaise rolled his eyes, "you're trying to insult Draco by comparing him to an animal and you're not even going to go with the obvious?"

The question made Draco glare as Pansy looked confused. "Obvious?" she wondered. "You mean like a hedgehog?"

"_What?"_ Both boys stared. "Why the hell is hedgehog the obvious one?" Draco demanded. "How the fuck do I remind you of a goddamn hedgehog?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "they're all prickly, aren't they? Even though they're also sort of cute. Plus, I get the feeling that they think they're a lot tougher than they really are, so…"

"I didn't mean a hedgehog, Pansy," Blaise sniggered. "Obviously, I meant a ferret."

"Oh, fuck you," Draco snapped. God, he really hated that word. It never failed to bring back painful memories of being bounced around the corridor by one of the Dark Lord's henchmen disguised as a fucking professor. He had had nightmares for weeks afterwards about being transfigured into humiliating things and bounced around rooms to the jeering laughter of an entire swarm of onlookers. How dare Blaise throw Draco's lingering trauma in his face in such a way.

"No thanks, I don't fuck ferrets," Blaise said lightly, and Draco glared, wondering just how much trouble casting an Unforgivable would really get him in. Blaise grinned. "_Crucio_ me and go to Azkaban," he sang, grin widening as Draco's glare deepened. "You're so easy to read, you know, Draco."

"I am not," he argued. "I am a deeply complex individual; you couldn't ever even hope to understand me or delve the mysteries of my many complicated layers."

"Eh, not really that complex," Blaise shrugged. "I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but you're pretty shit at hiding your emotions, especially when you're upset."

"I wouldn't go to Azkaban for casting a stinging hex," Draco mused to himself, considering the dark-skinned boy beside him. Maybe on the back of the knee or the sensitive underside of Blaise's bicep—that would definitely hurt.

"What, and you think you won't get hexed back?" Blaise raised one eyebrow.

"How old are the two of you again?" Pansy drawled, shaking her head at both boys.

"He started it!" they both said simultaneously, slanting each other a reluctant grin.

"Just tell us how it went already, Draco," Pansy sighed in exasperation, "you sodding hedgehog." Both boys stared. "I decided that's what he is," she shrugged. "An animal who thinks he's all prickly and mean but is really tiny and sweet, once you get past the spikey exterior."

"You take that back," Draco's eyes narrowed. "I am huge and terrifying."

Both Slytherins laughed loudly. "Aw, isn't he adorable?" Pansy cooed, patting Draco on the head, and he took an angry step away from her in response.

"Terrifying," he growled, earning another loud laugh from the other two.

"Adorable," Pansy decided, and Draco decided he hated her. "An adorable little hedgehog." Draco decided he hated her even more.

"Well, little hedgehog," Blaise grinned, "tell us everything then. Was Potter angry at you? Did he yell at you? Did he blame himself and beg you to take him back? Did he cry? Tell us, or I'll call you a hedgehog again, I swear I will."

"Yeah, well you're a…" Draco struggled for a moment as he tried to think of an animal repulsive enough for Blaise to be compared to. "A _warthog_. So there. You are now free to feel insulted." At the sight of Blaise's face twisting in outrage, Draco took a second to be proud of himself for the comparison.

"All right, now he's asking for a fight, Pansy," the other boy glared. "I am not a disgusting warthog, you git. If anything, I'm a fucking tiger! A cool tiger. A sexy tiger. Tell me I'm a tiger!"

"I dunno, Blaise," Pansy smirked. "I think I like warthog. It's funny how offended you get."

"Yeah, well Draco's a ferret _and_ a hedgehog!" Blaise folded his arms crossly.

"A fedgehog?" Pansy asked in amusement. "Or maybe a hedget?"

"I'm neither!" Draco protested. "If anything, I'm a cheetah! And cheetahs are sexier than tigers, so there," he told Blaise smugly.

"Hmm," Blaise hummed thoughtfully, "you might actually be right. All right, I change my mind, _I'm _the cheetah."

Draco made an outraged noise. "You can't just steal my animal! Pansy, tell him he can't just steal my animal! I'm the one who came up with cheetah!"

"You can be a tiger," Blaise said, reaching out to pat Draco on the arm. He shot Draco a pointed look. "Well, maybe a white tiger, considering your tragic doomed state of severe and irreversible albinism."

Draco's mouth dropped open in shock. "You absolute knob face, I am not an albino! My hair is _blond! _Not white!_"_

"Of course it is," Blaise said patronizingly, turning to Pansy. "It's better just to play along to make him feel better," he said in a loud stage whisper. "You know how temperamental hedgehogs can be."

"Now now, boys," Pansy said with obvious amusement, "no need to fight over animals. We've already decided that one of you is a hedgehog and the other a warthog. Considering the fact that you're both hogs, you think you would be better at getting along." Both boys glared at her, opening their mouths to speak but she continued before they could. "Now hurry and tell us, Draco. You do realize that we have a free period right now and that Blaise and I are going to spend every minute of it questioning you until you are eventually annoyed into answering."

"You two are the hogs," Draco muttered. "Fine!" he huffed, just as Pansy began opening her mouth again. "Fine, you goddamn flamingo slag!" Blaise laughed loudly, earning a smack on the arm from Pansy. "Harry and I talked, everything is fine, we decided not to hide our goddamn—" Draco paused to grimace, "_relationship_, all right?!"

"Aaand then the two of you snogged each other's faces off," Blaise said knowingly, and Draco flushed. "Ha! I knew it! God, Draco, it is scary how well I know you."

"Hedgehog slag," Pansy smirked, and Draco flicked her sharply on the shoulder just as they entered the common room, heading to a table in the corner to work on homework.

"I will abandon the both of you right now if you're not careful," he warned. "And then we'll see how sad and miserable you are when I'm gone."

They exchanged a glance. "Is that supposed to be a threat?" Pansy asked in confusion.

"Oh please," Blaise scoffed, "you're only looking for an excuse to abandon us so you can go shag your Gryffindor…hmm…" he trailed off, tapping his chin in thought, "what's a good animal for Potter? Other than a lion, of course, because that's just too bloody obvious."

"A bat?" Pansy suggested. "Aren't they meant to have poor eyesight?"

"He's not a fucking bat," Draco growled. _How dare she. _Potter was much too good-looking to be compared to a disgusting flying rat.

"Maybe a mole then," Blaise mused. "Moles are blind, aren't they? And they're excellent little hiders, yes? Potter was pretty good at keeping hidden during the war, wasn't he?"

"He's not a fucking mole!" Moles were even worse than bats! _How dare they_, Draco thought to himself angrily. Potter was _much_ better than whatever rodent-like creatures the two idiots kept comparing him to.

"Hmm," Pansy tapped her chin, "he would have to be something a bit more stupidly heroic, wouldn't he? A more in-your-face kind of animal. Like a hawk or something. They certainly seem a bit full of themselves, don't they?"

"He is not full of himself!" Draco defended. _How dare she again!_ Potter was the opposite of arrogant—he was almost aggravatingly humble; she clearly knew nothing about the brunet.

"He could be a wolf," Blaise said thoughtfully. "An alpha wolf, even. He has his own pack of Gryffindors who follow him everywhere and he's all take-charge and leadery and whatnot and I'm sure quite territorial when it comes down to it."

"Fine then, he can be a bloody wolf," Draco allowed. At least that one was much better than a fucking _mole_. "How the hell did we even get started comparing everybody to animals?"

"You called me a flamingo," Pansy reminded him dryly, and Draco snickered.

"Oh, right," he grinned, "I'm funny."

"Not the adjective I would use to describe you," she drawled. "I actually have a list on me somewhere of the ones I _would _use to describe you. I can find it if you like."

"I have a list for you too," Draco lied. "A bigger one."

"What are we talking about now?" Blaise cut in, sounding amused. "Because whatever it is, I have the biggest one."

"You have the biggest nothing," Draco snorted, "other than ego."

"Biggest _everything_," Blaise corrected, "_including_ ego. Self-confidence is very important, I'll have you know."

"Yes, but arrogance is not," Draco retorted. "It's not as attractive a trait as you seem to think."

"Neither is albinism," Blaise smiled innocently.

"I am not an albino!" Draco argued in a loud voice, and he could practically feel every set of eyes in the room glance his direction, making him want to cringe in embarrassment. "I am _fair-skinned_, you git," he hissed, feeling his cheeks turn pink.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetie," Blaise grinned.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Stop sounding like Pansy and just do your bloody homework already."

"Oh please," Pansy scoffed, "my level of scorn within sarcasm is _much_ more impressive than that. Blaise has nothing on my superior level of condescension. My ability to belittle is unmatched; I am literally able to scar others with just my tone."

"Of course you can, sweetie," Blaise said with pouted lips, smiling patronizingly as he reached out to pat her hand.

"Warthog," she muttered, snatching her hand away.

"As much as I hate to do this, Pans," Draco grinned, "I think I have to give him five points for that one."

"Ha!" Blaise said triumphantly. "The flamingo can suck it!"

Draco raised one eyebrow. "Would you really want a flamingo sucking anything with that giant curved beak? It'd probably shred whatever you're trying to get it to suck."

"Well, I suppose you would know best," Blaise shrugged, "considering the flamingo has only ever sucked one of us at this table, which frankly, I think is a bit rude. I am an absolute delight to suck. Just ask Daphne or any of my thousands of fans."

"Must be stealthy fans," Pansy said dryly, glancing pointedly around the room.

"Oh, they're just shy," Blaise said airily, waving her words away. "But very much real."

"Yeah, real in your head," Draco muttered, earning a snicker of agreement from Pansy.

"Your jealousy and refusal to accept reality has been noted," Blaise said, still sounding casual.

"Yeah," Pansy snorted, "_we're_ the ones unable to accept reality."

"Yes, I know," Blaise returned smoothly, "that's what I just said. I don't need an echo, darling."

Her eyes narrowed. "Draco, you get ten points."

"Brill," Draco grinned appreciatively.

"What?" Blaise demanded, "What does _he_ get points for?! He wasn't even saying anything!"

Pansy shrugged. "He gets points for not being you. Since I'm not allowed to take points _away_ from you, I'm awarding him ten points instead because he's _not_ you. Do you understand, sweetie?" she tilted her head mockingly, pouting her lips and patting Blaise on the arm. "Or should I explain slower?"

Draco couldn't help but laugh. "Ten points to Pans," he grinned, laughing again at the look of outrage on Blaise's face.

"I've still been with more people than you have, Draco," Blaise grumbled. "You're just a sad virginal hedgehog."

Draco raised one eyebrow, still grinning. "You do realize that I'm dating the most powerful and famous human being in the entire country, don't you? Probably even the entire continent, maybe even the world, if the colonials across the sea know anything, so insulting my dating life just won't work anymore."

Blaise stared at him for a moment before turning to Pansy. "Pansy, you get ten points, just because Draco's a smug git who refuses to be insulted when he's meant to be."

_Fuck your points,_ Draco thought to himself, trying to ignore the sound of Pansy's triumph, _I get Harry Potter._ And between the points and Potter, Draco knew without a doubt which he would rather have.

* * *

"Draco!" a voice called behind the three Slytherins, and they all turned as one to watch Potter hurrying over toward them as they exited the Ancient Runes classroom, earning curious glances from the other students milling around them.

"Potter," Draco said in confusion, shooting nervous glances around himself. Harry had never approached him so openly in public before; what was going on?

"I, er," the brunet rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I thought I could, you know, walk you down to dinner. Or something. I mean, I'm sure you want to drop your books and stuff off first, but I thought I could walk you to your common room and then to dinner. If you want. You know, if that's okay. With you. And everything. So, that's what I'm doing here," he finished awkwardly, flushing red. Blaise and Pansy both sniggered, causing Harry to blush darker.

The sight of his awkward floundering made Draco's chest feel warm. "All right," he slanted the other boy a tiny smile, earning one from Potter in return. "Come on, then."

Looking relieved, the brunet fell into step beside Draco, appearing completely unfazed at being in the company of the three most hated Slytherins in the entire school.

"So, Potter," Blaise began casually, and Draco instantly fixed him with a glare, praying that the other boy was not about to say anything either incriminating or embarrassing. _But that would be expecting him to be better than he is_, Draco sighed to himself, proven right in the next second as Blaise continued speaking. "I heard that you helped devirginize Draco a bit last night."

The blond spluttered in shock and outrage as Harry's face turned crimson.

"Sod off, you prat," Draco hissed. "Stop acting like I was some innocent untouched flower! Harry was not the first person to suck me off! Pansy, tell Blaise what an amazing experience it was for you! Tell him how much it changed your life! Tell him what an honor it was to be the very first person to be allowed such a privilege!"

Pansy gave Blaise a flat look. "It was such an honor," she deadpanned. "It changed my life in ways you can't imagine. I have never been the same since; that night will be seared into my memory forever. It was a privilege unlike any I've ever been given before or after. It was a precious gift bestowed upon me by a selfless man and Draco is a truly generous individual for allowing me such an experience."

"So there," Draco said smugly, wishing that Pansy had put just a bit more enthusiasm behind her words. It had clearly been the best night of her entire life and she should be expressing that happiness more, damn it.

"Yep, I definitely believe it now," Blaise drawled. "Five points to Pansy for overwhelming believability."

"And now you two sad fools will never catch up, I'm afraid," she smirked. "I figure that's got to put me in the lead by at least two thousand or so, yes?"

"Do any of you even keep track of the score?" Harry interrupted, and the three Slytherins paused as they exchanged glances with one another.

Pansy's nose scrunched up. "I think I lost count in fourth year."

Blaise scratched his head in thought. "I'm sure I must be up to at least a million by now. Maybe even four or five million. These two are still struggling to get out of the triple digits."

"Oh please," Draco scoffed, "I'm so far in the lead I actually feel sorry for the two of you!"

"The two of you meaning yourself and Blaise," Pansy scoffed right back. "Because obviously _I'm_ in the lead. I've scored the most points so far today, so _clearly_ I am in the lead. But don't worry, Draco," she smiled sweetly, "I'll give you ten pity points. Does that make you feel better?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "This, Pansy," he pointed at her, "_This_ is why you're a flamingo slag."

"A flamingo slag?" Harry raised one eyebrow in amusement. "Um, what does that even mean? Can flamingos even _be_ slags?"

"That one can," Draco shrugged, pointing at Pansy again. "And she's a flamingo because she makes weird bird noises, you'll start noticing soon, they're hilarious and they're bound to happen any second. And she's a slag because, well, she's just a slag."

"Oh please," she glared, "I'm not the one that got sucked off in some random broom cupboard last night!"

"It wasn't a broom cupboard," Harry chuckled, and Draco felt himself blush.

"Blaise is the one far more likely to resort to getting sucked off in broom cupboards," Draco pointed out, still blushing, "we all know how desperate he is."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "Daphne and I once had sex on your bed."

The moment the horrible words entered his ears, Draco's mouth dropped open and he came to a screeching halt, staring in angry horror at his traitorous friend. "_What?"_ he demanded, unable to form any other words.

Blaise shrugged. "In sixth year. You were out doing strange nefarious mysterings and Daphne and I had the dorm to ourselves and it just happened. And we vowed to never tell you, on account of your extreme sensitivity and unhealthy love of throwing tantrums, but you just asked for the painful truth by being a prat, you prat."

"Mysterings?" Pansy snorted. "You do realize that's not an actual word, don't you?"

"Just let me be an individual, darling," Blaise waved her away. "All I ask is that you don't try to understand me or ever ask me to change myself. My flame is far too bright to be contained."

"Close your eyes tonight, Blaise," Draco glared, standing motionless in the spot he had come to a dead stop in, "I fucking dare you. See what happens if you're stupid enough to fall asleep tonight."

"The most terrifying hedgehog we've ever seen, isn't he, Pans?" Blaise grinned, and Draco glared harder, wondering if it was possible for one to injure themselves from the sheer severity of their own glare.

"Erm," Potter cut in, sounding confused, "why are you all animals?"

"Isn't the reason obvious?" Blaise asked in amusement, "Clearly it's because of our extreme level of maturity and overwhelming love and respect for nature. Pansy is a flamingo because she sounds like one, Draco is a hedgehog because he's a bit spikey and thinks he's dangerous even though he's far more likely to curl into a ball at the slightest sign of danger, and I am a cheetah because, well," he gestured down at himself, "_obviously._"

"Um, can you run really fast or something?" Potter guessed, still appearing confused, and Draco and Pansy both laughed.

"He thinks he's sexy like a cheetah," Draco rolled his eyes, finally unsticking his feet from the floor and allowing the others to continue walking, falling into step beside Potter once more.

"Are cheetahs sexy?"

Pansy and Draco laughed again.

"Compared to what we decided he is, yes," Draco grinned.

"Yes," Blaise interrupted loudly, "which is a _cheetah_. We all voted, it was a unanimous decision, we can all move on to a different topic now."

"He's a warthog," Draco's grin widened. "A grumpy, delusional, arrogant warthog."

Blaise glared. "He's also a hedgehog, Potter, because hedgehogs are notorious for their compulsive lies and their bullying. And their drinking problems. Just ignore the rude, lying, inebriated hedgehog."

"Extra grumpy warthog, isn't he?" Pansy smirked, and Draco snickered.

"I'm not sure I'm understanding anything you lot are actually saying," Harry chuckled, "but it's definitely entertaining to listen to."

"You act like we haven't always been entertaining people to be around," Draco said, earning an eye roll from Harry.

"Yeah, not so much when you were younger," he responded. "But I'm sure you all thought you were hilarious."

"No, we _knew_ we were hilarious," Draco said patiently.

"Yeah, only to the other hedgehogs," Potter returned with a grin, and Pansy and Blaise laughed.

"You're all right, Potter," Blaise chuckled, turning to the two Slytherins. "I think I'm going to award Potter his very first ten points for that one. Congratulations, you're the first non-Slytherin any of us have ever awarded points to. You may now feel free to bask in the honor."

"Don't tell him what to do!" Draco snapped. "And he won't be basking in anything of yours, either! So back off already, Zabini!"

Harry turned a warm smile on him, slipping his hand into Draco's and squeezing.

"Possessive hedgehog, isn't he?" Blaise asked Pansy in amusement. "Your jealousy makes you even sweeter, Draco. Are you worried that Harry and I are falling in love right before your jealous little eyes?"

"Yeah, that's definitely what's happening," Harry said sarcastically.

"Don't call him Harry," Draco grumbled to Blaise just as they reached the entrance to the common room. "You're not allowed to call him Harry. It's Mr Potter to you, warthog face."

Blaise opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Draco giving the wall the password.

"Well, Potter," the blond said, releasing the other boy's hand, "I would invite you inside, but we haven't had any outsiders step through this entrance in over seven hundred years, and I refuse to be the individual responsible for shattering that proud record." For some reason, the comment made Harry laugh loudly. "What?" Draco frowned. "Why is that so funny?" For another even stupider reason, the question only made Harry laugh even harder. Draco turned to the other two in confusion, but they only shrugged.

"Actually," Harry laughed again, holding his sides as though in pain, "that record was shattered years ago, I'm sorry to have to tell you. I've already seen your common room."

"Wait, _what?_" All three Slytherins gasped.

"You've been _inside?"_ Draco asked in disbelief. "When? Was this when that moronic Slytherin led you here in second year? I thought they just showed you where it was! Who the hell was this idiot and why the fuck were they stupid enough to actually let you in?!"

To Draco's annoyance, Harry laughed so hard he was bent double. "Why is that so fucking funny?!" Draco demanded, glaring as Potter continued to laugh like a maniacal git. "Fine, you stay out here and be a prat, I'm going inside." Turning away, he took one step forward before he was stopped by a hand wrapping around his wrist.

"No, I'm sorry," Harry apologized, still chuckling. "One day I really will tell you the whole story." As he spoke, he stepped closer to Draco. "Can I still come in though? I want to see if it's the same as it was in second year. Please?" the brunet pleaded. "Don't leave me out in the dungeons all alone, Draco. It's cold out here." He shot Draco a sad look, one that Draco knew was fake, having faked enough sad looks to get his way to be able to spot when one was real or not.

"Fine," he grumbled despite the fakeness of Potter's expression, wondering just when he had lost the ability to remain angry at Harry-aggravating-Potter.

"Lead the way then," the brunet said cheerfully, releasing Draco's wrist.

Sighing, Draco gestured for the other two to enter first before stepping through the entrance and hearing Harry follow. The wall slid shut behind them and Draco couldn't help but glance back at Harry as they stepped into the common room, the brunet gazing around curiously as though he had never seen a room before.

"Yep," he said after several moments, "it looks exactly the same. Not really sure what I was expecting, really."

"Pansy could do a weird dance," Blaise suggested. "That would definitely be different from the last time you were here. I'm assuming. Eh, maybe not though, since the only kind of dancing she ever does is weird."

She glared. "I only do normal dancing, you git, there's nothing weird about me!"

"Make another weird bird noise and then say that again," Blaise grinned, and she smacked his arm in response.

"Blaise could try being polite," she said, still shooting him a sharp look, "that would definitely make the common room different. That would be something that none of us have ever seen."

"So where's your dorm?" Potter asked curiously, still peering around. "I only saw the common room last time."

"What, you didn't get to trick the poor idiot who led you here into giving you the whole tour?" Blaise smirked, and Harry laughed loudly.

"Nah, didn't manage that," he grinned at Draco, who wondered for the hundredth time what was so goddamn funny.

"Well, the dorms are down here," Draco gestured toward the other end of the room, allowing Blaise to lead the way. He opened the door to the dorm the two boys shared, and Draco heard both Potter and Pansy shuffle in behind him. Crossing over to his bed, Draco dropped his bag on his mattress and saw Pansy deposit hers on Blaise's bed. Harry was staring around the room with obvious interest, studying Draco's side of the room intently as though it held the key to learning all of Draco's secrets, even bending low and tilting his head to read the titles curling along the spines of the stack of books on Draco's desk.

"Done snooping yet?" Draco asked, raising one eyebrow, and Harry straightened with a grin.

"How is this snooping?" he wondered. "Do you see me looking through your trunk or rifling through your wardrobe?"

"You can rifle through _my_ wardrobe, Potter," Blaise smiled innocently, ignoring Draco's glare. "It's far more interesting. Plus, most of the clothing Draco wears for you is in it, sooo…mine is the better wardrobe, really."

Potter smiled. "I guess we'll just have to get Draco his own Muggle clothing, then."

"What?" Draco blinked. "You want me to…own Muggle clothing?"

"I really, really do," Potter confessed in a low voice. "And since you made me burn my entire set of old Muggle clothing, I'm now going to insist on you owning a new set of your own."

Blaise snorted. "Draco made you burn them, really?"

"Oh please, I was doing him a favor!" the blond defended. "You saw how he used to dress!"

"Still standing right here," Harry waved, "with ears and everything."

"Oh right, sorry," Draco apologized, turning to him. "I was doing you a favor! You saw how you used to dress!"

Harry shook his head in amusement. "Not my clothes and not my fault."

"You should have seen Blaise's face when I had to explain the concept of hand-me-downs," Draco grinned.

"Um, excuse me," Blaise cut in, "my face was your face. We both had the same face. You were just as confused by the concept as I was. Plus, leave my face out of this."

"Gladly," Draco agreed. "Consider your warthog face left out. Of everything."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you see in him, Potter, I really don't."

"Wit, obviously," Draco grinned. "And charm. And beauty. And individuality and hilarity. And every other positive adjective in the world."

"And extreme dickheadery," Blaise muttered.

"Again, not a word," Pansy told him.

"Again," Blaise pointed at himself, "a bright flame that simply cannot be contained or restrained by your sad semantical boundaries ruling such inane things like 'correct word usage' and 'dictious propriety'. I will not allow myself to be limited in any way, especially grammatically. I will not allow grammar to tell me how to live my life, Pansy. Deal with it."

"Dictious propriety?" she raised one eyebrow at him. "You might just be the most ridiculous person I've ever met in my entire life, Blaise Zabini."

"For which you are so very welcome," he smiled graciously. "Now, are we going to dinner then or are we simply going to spend the rest of the night standing here, telling me how marvelously exceptional and globally unique I am?" Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the room, followed by an exasperated Pansy.

"None of that is what I said, you realize!" she called after him with a huff, rolling her eyes as she exited the room. The door swung shut behind her with a soft click.

"Your friends are surprisingly funny," Harry turned to Draco with a soft smile. "I didn't know they could be funny."

"As I said," Draco said distractedly, staring at Harry's smiling mouth, "we've always been hilarious. You've just never been able to appreciate it."

"Something I rather think was your fault," Potter pointed out, smile widening at Draco's obvious inability to look away from his mouth.

"You know," the blond began, "we could always go down to dinner later. Or get something straight from the kitchens. Sneaky bastard you are, I'm assuming you figured out where they are long ago. And I'm a genius, so I also figured out where they are long ago, so…you know…we both know where they are and don't technically _need_ to go to the Great Hall to get food, so—" He was cut off by Potter stepping forward to press his mouth to Draco's, who gladly gave up his daft ramblings in favor of kissing Harry. He tangled one hand in Harry's hair as a soft sound of pleasure escaped him, one that Potter responded to by clenching one fist in the back of Draco's robes and pressing them closer together. He clutched at the collar of Draco's uniform with the other hand, making escape impossible, if only Draco was fool enough to actually try. The thought made him shiver, and Draco was nearly ashamed at how arousing he found Potter's physical possessiveness to be.

The brunet took a step forward, using his hold on Draco to force the blond a step back, beginning a slow gradual shuffle in the direction of Draco's bed, who decided at that moment that Potter had never been more of a genius.

But just as the backs of Draco's legs bumped up against the mattress, the door to the dorm flew open and both boys jumped in surprise, turning to find both Pansy and Blaise leaning against the doorframe with folded arms, identical smirks splitting their faces.

"Well, well, Pansy," Blaise drawled, "do you think it took them two seconds or three to jump each other after we left the room?"

"One Galleon says it was less than two," she said, eyes glittering.

"I already told you, no more betting on us!" Draco snapped, breaking Harry's hold on him as he stepped away and tried to discreetly fix his hair, something he was guessing was not actually all that discreet, considering the fact that every single person in the room was staring at him. _Probably because I had been speaking_, Draco thought to himself—he really should have timed his attempted discretion better.

"Er, how often do the two of you bet on us?" Harry asked cautiously. "And what exactly are the sorts of things you bet on?"

"Nothing," Draco said quickly, regretting his outburst. "Seriously, Potter, nothing, don't ask."

"All right," the brunet grinned, still appearing cautious. "I'm sure it's absolutely nothing for either of us to be embarrassed about, right?"

"Right, yes, exactly," Draco nodded as Pansy and Blaise exchanged knowing looks of amusement.

"Come on then," Blaise said, still smirking. "Dinner awaits, yes? Don't make us wait," he paused to snicker, "and don't make us come back here to get you again, because we will. With cameras." Stupid smirks still on their stupid faces, the two Slytherins turned around and strode away.

"I take it back," Harry finally said, frowning at the empty doorway. "Your friends are the worst."

And Draco really couldn't argue.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: In which meals are shared, bonds are established, stories are told, and the origin of the points system is revealed.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

The doors to the Great Hall seemed unusually large and strangely intimidating, in a way that they had not since the night of the first-year welcoming feast. A nervous shiver wracked Draco's entire body as he gazed at the entrance in sudden fear. Was he really about to walk into that room with Harry, in front of the entire school? He was not sure why he was so anxious, only that he was, praying desperately that the hand Harry was holding was not drenched in sweat.

"It'll be fine, Draco," Harry said in a quiet voice, stepping close enough to murmur the words into his ear. "I promise. It'll all be fine."

"Sure, right," Draco agreed, voice sounding odd. Pansy and Blaise stood nearby, neither of them staring in their direction, but Draco knew they were listening in as hard as they could, the nosy bastards.

"Can I sit with you?" Potter asked, running one finger down the length of Draco's arm.

"What?" Draco stared at him in confusion, wondering if he had heard wrong. "You want to what?"

"I want to eat dinner with you," Harry smiled, appearing far calmer than Draco felt he had any right to appear in their current situation. "And I think sitting with you at your table might be a bit easier than asking you to sit at the Gryffindor table. We'll work up to that, all right?"

"Hey," Blaise smirked, "that makes us the very first students to ever get Harry Potter to sit somewhere besides the Gryffindor table at a meal."

Draco glared at the dark-skinned boy. "You had absolutely nothing to do with this, don't include yourself in my victory."

"Association, Draco," Blaise explained with a careless wave. "You know how friendship works. Your success is my success, you know this. Although, your failure is your own failure, I won't ever take credit for that. But you'll always know that your failure is your own fault and no one else's, so at least you can always take comfort in that."

"Come on," Harry grinned, tugging at Draco's hand. "We may as well just go in. Best way to do something is just to get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Fine," Draco sighed, resigned to the fact that he was now dating a bold daring Gryffindor who apparently did not have enough intelligence to be afraid when he really ought to be. The doors were pushed open with an ominous creak, one that seemed to almost screech at Draco to turn tail and run, or maybe give in to his supposed hedgehog instincts by curling into a ball right there and hiding from all the attention he was about to receive.

The moment he and Harry entered the room together, hands still clasped tightly, every conversation ground to a halt. Heads snapped in their direction as whispers began breaking out across the Hall like spreading ripples of curiosity, students craning their necks and even rising from their seats to get a better look. Glares and furious mutters were being sent Draco's direction, and he could feel himself trembling as he tried his hardest to keep his head up and prevent his gaze from dropping to the floor.

"Come on, then," Harry said softly, giving Draco a gentle smile. "Let's go sit down, yeah?"

"Right this way, Potter," Blaise grinned, and Draco wanted to punch him. How was Blaise getting so much enjoyment out of the situation when Draco was feeling nothing but terrified at all the scrutiny and obvious judgement carved onto every single person's face?

Harry squeezed his hand again as they turned toward the Slytherin table, heading for their usual spot at the very end. Dropping Harry's hand, Draco slid into a seat and Harry smiled as he took the seat next to him, leaving Pansy and Blaise sitting across from the two boys.

"So, Potter," Blaise said casually, beginning to serve himself dinner, "how does the Hall look from this side of the room?"

Harry chuckled. "'Bout the same, really, not too much difference from what I can see." The statement earned a snort from Blaise. "Is there some record for how many hundreds of years it's been since someone outside of Slytherin ate at this table?"

Draco grinned reluctantly. "You just want to know because you're determined to shatter every single record Slytherin prides itself in holding."

"What, me?" Potter gave him an innocent-eyed look. "When have I ever wanted to beat Slytherin in anything, hmm?"

Even Pansy laughed at that.

"Yes, Potter," Draco drawled, shaking his head, "when indeed?"

"I'm just eating dinner," the brunet responded lightly, "doing nothing wrong." As though to prove his point, he took a bite of his roast potatoes, chewing casually before sipping his pumpkin juice in a nonchalant manner.

"Tell that to the hundred thousand students staring at you as though you've lost your mind," Pansy said pointedly.

Blaise grinned. "We haven't had this much attention in ages. I think I like that my best friend's dating a celebrity."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly a celebrity. People in this school are just starved for anything exciting worth talking about."

"You are just too precious, Potter," Blaise said, offering him a wide smile. "Quite the humble gentleman you seem to have landed yourself, eh, Draco?"

Pansy and Draco both shook their heads, Pansy in amusement and Draco in disgust. "Ten points to Potter, Blaise," she smirked, "just for having to put up with you. And another ten points for being so damn patient about it."

"Fourth place," Harry grinned, nudging Draco with his elbow, "I'm catching up."

"Yes, Potter," Draco said sarcastically, "you're only seven years behind on points."

Harry snorted. "How did the points thing even get started?"

The three Slytherins exchanged a significant look.

"We could tell you," Blaise said airily, turning his attention back to his plate, "but I'm afraid it doesn't really show any of us in the best light. Especially your boyfriend."

Draco suddenly became very interested in studying his food, deciding there was nothing more important in the entire world than pushing his veg around his plate with his fork and not taking his eyes from it. There was always the possibility it may do something exciting and worth looking at, after all.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, sounding confused.

"Well," Pansy said, keeping her voice casual, "remember how you were saying how you used to never be able to see how hilarious we all are? This is a perfect example of a situation that we all laughed at but that I know for a fact you did not find funny."

Harry stared at them. "So you're saying that the points system was started pretty much based on you lot making fun of me?"

"Sort of," Blaise shrugged, still looking down at his plate; Draco still had yet to say a word. "It was really more about your friends, though."

"What about them?" Harry asked suspiciously, and Draco could sense the defensive walls the other boy was throwing up. The blond knew that if there was one thing Harry Potter could not stand, it was anybody insulting his best friends. "Draco?"

All the attention in the group went to the blond, who was still studiously looking down at the table and trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks. "I was a prat back then, Potter, all right? I'm sorry."

"You were a prat too many times for me to narrow down the list enough to have any idea what you're talking about," Harry sighed. "And I was there for all your pratishness, I already know everything you did, so just tell me. It's fine."

Nobody spoke for a very long time.

"It was in second year," Blaise blurted suddenly, sounding as though he could no longer stand the tense silence. "After Draco had just joined the Quidditch team. He was telling me and Pansy about his first practice and I awarded him ten points for making Weasley so angry he tried to jinx him but ended up having the spell backfire on himself. And then Pansy awarded him ten more points for calling Granger a Mudblood to her face in front of the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team and living to tell the tale."

Glancing up sharply, Draco glared at Blaise, who at least had the good sense to look contrite, mouthing _I'm sorry_ at the blond. Harry said nothing, staring down at the table with a hard look. The air was so thick with tension it was practically a living, breathing thing sitting between the four of them.

Finally, Harry glanced up, shooting Draco a complicated look before turning it on the other two. "Draco's the one who led me to the Slytherin common room in second year, gave me the password, and let me inside," he said casually, taking a sip of his drink and pretending not to notice the stunned expressions on the faces of the three Slytherins.

"_What?!_" Draco finally demanded. "What does that mean?! No I didn't!" The other two were giving him strange looks, clearly trying to keep from laughing.

"You mean," Blaise finally gave in and snorted, "that the stupid moronic idiot that we've all been wondering about and trying to decide who could have been that much of a daft sodding dunderhead as to lead Harry Potter himself to the Slytherin common room, was _Draco?_"

"Yep," Harry nodded, still sounding far too casual. "And it was just Draco too, nobody else. I never would have found it or ever gotten inside if it hadn't been for him."

"But that never happened!" Draco cried. How could that be true? He had never shown Harry where the common room was! Draco wasn't that stupid!

"And not just me either," Potter continued, a small grin lifting the corner of his mouth, "he showed Ron where it was too. He let the two of us right into the Slytherin common room without a second thought."

"That's not fucking true!" Draco shouted, ignoring the curious stares of the students around them or the way Pansy and Blaise were both howling with laughter. "Stop fucking lying, Potter, that never happened! I would never have done that!"

"But you did, Malfoy," the brunet said, grin widening. "The password was 'pureblood'. Do you not remember?"

Draco's eyes went wide—that really had been a password during their second year. Draco remembered because it had been his favorite password to date at that age. A suspicion suddenly struck him as his eyes narrowed. "You Obliviated me, didn't you?" he accused. "You tricked me into showing you! You probably held me at wandpoint or put me under the Imperius, got me to show you and let you in, and then you fucking Obliviated me! How fucking dare you, Potter! How could—"

"Oh please, Draco," Harry chuckled. "You think I knew how to Obliviate anyone at the age of twelve? I didn't even find out about that spell until months after when Lockhart Obliviated himself trying to cast it on me and Ron. And I definitely didn't know how to cast an Imperius on anyone! I hadn't even heard of that spell until fourth year when Moody cast it on all of us in class! Once again, I think you are vastly overestimating my abilities."

"You really didn't hold me at wandpoint?" Draco asked, nonplussed. Harry shook his head. "But then…how did I show you? I don't remember that at all! Oh, wait," his eyes narrowed again, "you hid under your Invisibility Cloak and followed me, didn't you? You sneaky shameless prat! And you want to accuse _me_ of being an awful person? Nobody in the history of this school has ever spied on someone in such an underhanded way! You—"

"I didn't use the Invisibility Cloak," Harry interrupted, sounding amused. "I didn't have to. You led us there of your own free will, without any sort of prompting from either of us. We didn't even have to ask."

"But that's not possible," Draco said weakly, head spinning. "I know it's not, I don't remember that! It never happened!" Desperately, he turned to Pansy and Blaise, needing them to understand that he was not the stupid idiot who had let Potter into the common room. That had obviously been some other stupid idiot because Draco was _not_ a stupid idiot! "I never did that, it never happened! He's obviously lying just to make me look like a twat!"

Blaise laughed. "Like you've ever needed any help looking like a twat. You do fine with that all on your own, my friend."

Pansy shook her head. "I can't believe it was you, Draco. I would have expected it from Goyle, because he really is a helpless moron, but not from you."

Feeling defeated, Draco slumped in his seat, pushing his plate away so he could fold his arms on the table and bury his face in them, hoping to hide from his shame and embarrassment in the safe darkness forever. "It wasn't me," he muttered, the words muffled by his position.

A warm hand settled on his back, rubbing the tense muscles in comfort. "To be fair," Harry said, sounding somewhat apologetic, "Ron and I didn't actually look like ourselves. He didn't know it was us he was taking to the common room."

"Who did you look like?" Blaise asked instantly, and Draco felt a surge of gratitude for the other boy; he had immediately wanted to ask the same thing but was still far too mired in shame to be able to lift his head.

"Crabbe and Goyle," Potter answered, hand still rubbing Draco's back.

But at that, Draco sat up in shock, staring at Harry with wide eyes. "What?" he whispered. "What does that mean you looked like Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Fuck, Potter," Blaise said in an impressed voice, "are you saying that you used Polyjuice at the age of twelve to sneak into the Slytherin common room and in the process tricked Draco into being the one to show you where it is by specifically choosing Crabbe and Goyle to impersonate after first brewing a notoriously difficult and restricted potion in secret somewhere in this school before then stealing pieces of their DNA?"

Harry shrugged. "When you say it like that, it sounds a bit underhanded."

"_Why?"_ Draco demanded, still feeling gobsmacked. What sort of sneaky conniving bastard was Harry Potter to have done such a thing at so young an age?

"Did you lose a bet or something?" Pansy wondered. "Did you have to find a way into the Slytherin common room and steal something as proof?"

"No," Harry snorted. "We did it because—" he hesitated, now appearing uncertain.

"Oh come on!" Blaise prodded. "We're all best friends now! You can tell us! It obviously had something to do with Draco, since you specifically targeted him by choosing to impersonate Crabbe and Goyle."

"Er, yeah, actually," Harry admitted sheepishly, raking a hand through his hair. "We, er," he shot Draco a glance out of the corner of his eye, "we thought he was the heir of Slytherin and brewed Polyjuice to try to trick him into confessing." At the words, Draco felt his mouth drop open in shock. "I mean, we were wrong," Harry shrugged, looking between the three Slytherins. "We ended up finding out later who it really was. Still, though, Ron and I always got a kick out of knowing we had tricked Malfoy into being the one to show us to the Slytherin common room."

The three Slytherins stared at him in silent shock.

"Merlin's balls, Potter," Blaise finally said, "who the hell knew you had that in you at the age of _twelve?_ I never even knew that Gryffindors could be so goddamn sneaky!"

Harry grinned. "There is so much you don't know about me, Zabini."

"Tell us more stories!" Blaise demanded. "How did you find out who the real heir was?"

Potter took a bite of his dinner and shrugged. "Ron and I went down into the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny, who had been taken down there by Voldemort. We took Lockhart with us—and that really was at wandpoint—but he ended up causing a cave-in when he tried to Obliviate us with Ron's broken wand and it backfired on himself." Harry paused to rub his arm almost subconsciously. "I ended up getting bit by a fucking Basilisk, though, when I killed it with the sword of Gryffindor; that hurt like a bitch. But we got Ginny back alive," he shrugged, sounding as though everything he was saying was not possibly the most extraordinary thing Draco had ever heard. All three Slytherins were gazing at the brunet with open mouths.

"How the sodding fuck are you still alive?" Blaise finally asked. "You got bit by a fucking _Basilisk?_ That's not even possible to still be alive! Just their gaze can kill, their venom is unsurvivable! I've never heard of anyone surviving a direct bite from them before!"

Harry shrugged again. "Yeah, I definitely would have died, if not for Fawkes." At the blank stares he got, he hurried to explain, "That was Dumbledore's phoenix. Saved me with his tears. Which is kind of weird, now that I think about it…getting bit by a huge snake that can kill with its eyes and then having a bird cry all over the wound to heal it." He frowned. "Sometimes I feel like my life is a bit strange. I ended up having to stab an old diary with the same fang I had been bitten with from the giant snake I had killed with a sword I pulled out of a sentient hat that had been brought to me by a magical bird whose tears have the power to heal mortal wounds…it was odd…" he trailed off, looking thoughtful and appearing not to notice the looks he was getting from the three Slytherins.

Draco couldn't even speak. How was any of that true? That story was absolutely insane; it could not be true! Finally, after only twenty or so years of silence, Draco opened his mouth to speak. "You were _twelve_?" he asked weakly.

"Tell us another story!" Pansy requested, and Blaise nodded eagerly.

Harry looked a bit taken aback, a wry smile curling his lips. "Er, okay, I guess. Um…Ron and I once earned five House points each for knocking out that troll that was let into the castle on Halloween back in first year."

"_What?_" Pansy said flatly, giving him a disbelieving look. "I always thought Dumbledore was the one who got rid of it! That thing must have been ten feet tall!"

"Twelve, I think," Harry shrugged. "We ended up only earning Gryffindor five points, though, because Hermione also lost us five points. We had gone looking for her and ended up having to fight the troll ourselves to stop it from smashing her."

"You only earned _five _House points for that?" Blaise sounded outraged. "Not many fully-grown wizards are able to take on a fucking mountain troll and live! And you were probably the scrawniest thing in the whole school in first year! How the hell did the three of you survive?"

"Ron knocked it out with its own club," Potter grinned. "It was mostly luck really, since that had been the very same day we had learned how to levitate things. We most likely would've been killed if it had chosen to attack the day before."

"Jesus Christ, Potter," Blaise breathed.

"Tell us something else!" Pansy said excitedly.

Harry looked a bit exasperated, but Draco could see his lips twitching. "Um," he paused to rack his brain, "I guess there was one time in third year that Hermione and I used a Time-Turner to go back in time and help a convicted felon who turned out to be my godfather escape the Dementor's Kiss for a crime he never committed. And also to save Buckbeak, as well."

At the name, Draco's insides squirmed; he had nearly forgotten about that blasted Hippogriff. "So that's what happened to it," he said under his breath. He had heard from his father that the creature had somehow vanished without a trace.

"Yeah, we had to save him," Harry shot him a pointed look, "since he never actually deserved to die in the first place."

"He nearly ripped my arm off," Draco defended automatically.

"Oh bollocks, Draco, we all knew you were faking," Blaise snickered. "And you can't say something like that to Potter after hearing about how the man got bit in the arm by a fucking Basilisk and lived to tell us about it! Which, by the way—" he paused to give Harry a sweeping glance, "I have to say, and let me just remind everyone of my extreme heterosexuality before I say this, but that might just be the hottest story I've ever heard anybody tell. You all dirty and heroic, holding a sword in one hand and a broken bloody fang in the other…" Blaise's lips curled into a smile, and Draco wanted to kick him. So he did.

"Ow!" Pansy cried, reaching down to rub her shin. "What the fuck, Draco, why did you just kick me?!"

"Oh, sorry," he apologized to her, still glaring at Blaise. "That wasn't meant for you."

"Well next time aim better!" she hissed, continuing to rub her leg.

"Yeah, Draco, work on your aiming skills," Blaise grinned, "Nobody likes a boy who can't aim. Right, Potter?"

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, his face turning red. "I am not answering that," he said firmly, once he was able to draw breath.

"Don't even listen to him," Draco said, mentally attempting to come up with the best revenge plan for Blaise the moment he fell asleep. _I could turn his hair green_, he thought,_ or hex his eyebrows off. That would definitely look funny. Or I could hex his mouth shut. Or just kill him in his sleep_, Draco thought as Blaise _continued_ to stare at Harry.

Blaise raised one eyebrow at Draco's glower. "Do you not want your boyfriend getting along with your best friend?"

"Nobody gets along with you, Blaise," Draco sighed, shaking his head, "we merely tolerate you."

Blaise tilted his head and offered him an innocent smile, one that made Draco instantly wary. "Hey, Potter," Blaise said sweetly, still smiling at Draco, and Draco tensed, not sure what was coming but knowing it would be bad. "Did Draco ever tell you the story about when he got caught wanking in the Quidditch locker room in fifth year after Slytherin won a match?"

Harry choked again, which was something that Draco wasn't even sure how he managed to accomplish considering that he had not been eating or drinking anything at the time. "You what?" the brunet rasped, trying to breathe and grin at the same time, which apparently was a struggle for some people.

"Yep," Blaise said smugly. "Crabbe told me. Draco thought the showers were empty and decided to take advantage, but some of the boys were late or something or forgot some of their things and had to go back there maybe, I dunno, Crabbe was drunk when he told me, but the point is, Draco totally got caught wanking by half his teammates." Blaise sat back with a triumphant air, folding his arms with a superior look. Harry chuckled, face still slightly flushed.

Draco glared so hard he could barely see through the tiny slits that were usually two normal-sized eyes. "One time in fifth year, all of us were playing truth-or-dare," he began, smirking when Blaise's eyes went wide and his smirk vanished, "and Tracey got dared to sit on Blaise's lap and snog him." Blaise looked horrified now, as though he wished he could disappear through the floor, and Draco's evil grin widened, "And he totally came in his pants like a twelve-year-old after about a minute." Pansy and Harry both laughed, Draco sniggering at both the memory and how hard Blaise was flushing. "Tracey freaked out and nearly started crying, then immediately ran upstairs to change her clothes and scrub herself clean."

"It was longer than a minute! And she wasn't crying, damn it, she wasn't even close! Name one time Tracey has ever cried in her life!" Blaise hissed, glancing around himself to make sure no one was listening; Draco was surprised to find that most of the Great Hall had emptied.

"That's actually true," Pansy grinned, "Tracey has never been one for tears. And she was definitely grossed out, but the girl did still take it as a compliment. She was both complaining and bragging about it for days."

"Still happened though," Draco sang, sending Blaise the same sweet, innocent smile he had been giving Draco before Draco's crushing revenge obliterated him beyond all hope of recovery.

"Pansy once accidentally flashed all of us when one of her tits popped out in the common room," Blaise said desperately, and Pansy squawked in indignation as she smacked him sharply on the shoulder.

"That wasn't my fault!" she smacked him again. "Those were new robes, I had no idea how low-cut the neckline was when I purchased them, and I tripped! Over _your_ stupid bag! It was your fault, you pervert! I bet you put that bag there on purpose!"

"That wasn't _my_ bag," Blaise said, rubbing his arm with a wounded expression, "that was Theo's. And he probably did put it there on purpose, that boy really is a pervert."

Draco nodded fervently. "Do you remember how he used to just _stare _at people?"

Pansy shuddered. "Oh god, yes. Do you remember when we would play truth-or-dare and he would always try to dare all the girls to do disgusting and life-scarring things with him until we banned people from including themselves in their dares for others?"

"What sorts of things?" Harry asked cautiously. "I dunno if I've ever even heard Nott speak before."

"Be grateful for that," Blaise told him, shaking his head in disgust. "He once dared Daphne to wank him off in front of everyone, including me, _while_ she and I were going out. And then he dared Tracey to let him touch her tits. And the time before that he full-on dared Pansy to suck him off."

"Hearing those words was the worst moment of my entire life," she closed her eyes with a grimace. "I can't believe he actually thought any of us would _ever _have agreed to any of that. Nasty pervert."

"Sounds like you should have decked him," Harry said, eyes narrowed.

Pansy laughed. "Oh don't worry, Tracey did. Blaise was about a second away from thumping Theo when Theo dared Daphne to wank him off, so he backed down from her and instead turned to Tracey and pretty much demanded that she let him touch her tits." Pansy grinned widely at the memory. "And Tracey stands up without a word and walks over to him and he starts getting all excited, thinking she's really going to let him do it—"

"And then BAM!" Blaise interrupted gleefully, smacking a fist into the palm of his other hand. "Right in the face! Oh, it was fucking _excellent! _I don't think I've ever cheered a person on more than I did at that moment. I remember Daphne thanking her for it right in front of him."

"Tracey was a true hero to us all that night. I have never had so much respect for the girl in my life," Pansy smiled, laying one hand over her heart in a gesture of sincerity. "I just regret that that wasn't the way I had responded when he had dared me to suck him off. After that, we banned him from ever being allowed to play truth-or-dare with us. Pretty much all the girls banned him from ever being allowed to speak to us." She paused to sigh wistfully, "If only we could have banned him from ever being allowed to look at us as well."

"Ew," Blaise wrinkled his nose, "but just think how many times he's probably wanked to the memory of your tit falling out in the common room, Pans."

She held up one finger in warning, a sharp glare on her face. "Do not make me be sick all over you," she said in a threatening voice. "Because I absolutely will if you continue saying things like that. All over you, Blaise, and that is not an exaggeration."

"Well, I'm definitely glad I never knew him," Harry frowned.

Blaise snorted. "Yeah, trust me when I say that none of us miss him."

"I don't think I've ever heard either Tracey or Daphne speak either," Harry said thoughtfully. "I'd never really realized 'til now how little contact I've had with any of the Slytherins in our year outside of you and Parkinson," he said, nodding to Draco. "And Crabbe and Goyle by default. But I'd never even spoken to _you_, Zabini, until this year."

Blaise grinned. "Well, that is a damn shame that you never heard Daphne speak. She was without a doubt the most foul-mouthed of any of us."

"Really?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Definitely," Pansy laughed. "That girl could swear like you wouldn't believe. She was normally so quiet and withdrawn, but the moment she started speaking, you would not believe the things that would come out of her mouth."

Blaise sighed dreamily. "It was the very first thing that attracted me to her."

"I never even knew you and she were together," Potter said.

"Oh god," Draco rolled his eyes, "you should have snuck into the Slytherin common room during sixth year, Potter. You would have known, trust me. There is not a single armchair or sofa in that room that they have not snogged all over. It was a dark, horrifying time in all of our lives."

"They're lying, Potter," Blaise said cheerfully, "it was a brilliant time for everyone. The world was a bright and joyous place for all. I should write her," he mused, tapping his chin in thought.

"She's already dating someone," Pansy smirked.

"What?!" Blaise rounded on her. "Who?! I hadn't heard that! Who the fuck is she dating?!"

"Aldrich Chatham," she told him, still smirking. "He was two years ahead of us, remember? They re-met a few months ago. And damn, is she lucky," Pansy sighed. "He was the tall muscly one with the dark hair."

"I have dark hair!" Blaise grumbled, crossing his arms angrily. "And I'm tall and muscly!"

"Eh," Pansy shrugged, scrunching up her nose as she considered him. "You're fairly tall, I'll give you that. And I'll agree that your hair is dark." She smirked at the glare he sent her. "I can't believe you didn't know, though."

"Sod off," he said grumpily.

"Don't worry," Pansy patted his arm, "Your Ravenclaw slag from fourth year isn't dating anyone. You can still have her."

"Anyone can still have her," Draco quipped, and Pansy snickered.

"Oh, like you keep up with her life," he rolled his eyes. "And she was fucking fit."

Harry shook his head in amusement. "You do realize that we're the last ones left in here, don't you?"

All three Slytherins glanced up in surprise, staring around the room to discover that Potter was right; they were the very last students left in the Hall.

"Well," Blaise grinned, pausing to drain the rest of his pumpkin juice before climbing to his feet, "look at us all getting along so well that we don't even notice the time passing! Who would have guessed, eh, Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, eyes twinkling as he rose from his seat and waited for Draco to rise as well, "who would have guessed."

Smiling, Draco shook his head, feeling amazement course through him at the fact that they really had all survived an entire meal together without any hexes or hurt feelings. Maybe the whole relationship-thing might just work out after all.

The corners of Harry's mouth pulled up in a happy smile as if he knew exactly what Draco was thinking, reaching down to take Draco's hand and give it a squeeze. Draco squeezed back, allowing himself, for just that one moment, to ignore the guilt still squirming through him alongside the fear of the future and instead simply allow himself to be happy. As long as he could trick them both into thinking the relationship between them could end in any way other than accusations and explosions and flaming hatred, Draco could fool himself into thinking he was neither guilty nor afraid, but happy. Happy with Harry, for however long he could hold onto it—however long he could delude himself into believing that there had ever been a time in his life when he had ever deserved Harry Potter.

* * *

A/N: Sooo, I just wanted to offer a quick apology for the fact that this chapter took so long to be posted despite it being the shortest chapter so far. It was my birthday last week and I decided to celebrate by retreating into the mountains with some friends and half a dozen bottles of whiskey. Haha, I'm pretty much only a wilderness girl if there's no chance of sobriety being involved.

But the other forest children and I have returned to civilization and Wi-Fi, so the next chapter should hopefully be up much sooner! It's now Draco's turn to learn how to play nice with the Gryffindors :) Haha, we'll find out how well that works out for him.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: In which harsh words are exchanged, bets are won, friendly threats are made, and broom cupboards are utilized.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"Just fucking go over there already," Blaise sighed, and Draco glanced at him in surprise, having nearly forgotten the other boy was there.

"Seriously, Draco," Pansy added, and Draco looked at her in surprise as well; had the two of them been sitting with him the entire time?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he sniffed, attempting to return his attention once more to the heavy textbook before him.

"Sure you don't," Blaise drawled, shaking his head in amusement.

"Yes, Draco, we absolutely believe you," said Pansy, slanting him a sardonic look. "You know, other than—"

"Other than the fact that you've been doing nothing for the last twenty minutes other than stare wistfully at Potter," Blaise cut in.

"So just go over there already," Pansy finished, and Draco felt a glare sharpen his face.

"I really hate it when the two of you gang up on me in tandem like that," he muttered irritably. Just because he would rather be sitting with Harry—even if it was just to do homework—did not mean that the other two had to acknowledge that pathetic weakness aloud, for Christ's sake.

"Don't be so easy to gang up on then," Blaise shrugged unapologetically.

"Or so easy to fucking read," Pansy added. "If all you're going to do is sit here and stare at him, you may as well just go over there and sit with him and stare at him there. At least you'll get a better view, you creep."

"It's not creepy to stare at the person I'm dating," Draco huffed. "If we weren't dating, then it would be creepy. But we are dating. So hence, not creepy."

Pansy and Blaise traded an amused look. "I don't think it means you can never be creepy just because you're dating the person," Blaise drawled. "Actually, I think it might make it even more creepy if you're dating the person and still feel the need to resort to such things as stalking or obsessive staring."

"Nobody is stalking anybody!" Draco snapped. "We all just happen to be in the library at the same time! Coincidence is faultless! Now stop pestering me already and let me study!"

Blaise smirked. "Oh, we're so sorry for distracting you from all your intense Potter-watching."

"Yeah, Draco," Pansy sniggered, "what exactly were you studying other than Potter's arse?"

"Potter's sitting, you can't see his arse," Draco said automatically, reddening as the other two laughed.

"And how much do you hate the chair he's sat in?" Pansy grinned.

"What does that even mean?" Draco looked at her incredulously. "Why would I hate a chair?"

Blaise gave an elegant shrug. "That either means that you hate the chair because it's preventing Potter's arse from being seen clearly enough to study, or you hate it because you're jealous of it."

"What?" Draco said indignantly. "Again, what does that even mean? Who the hell is ever jealous of a sodding _chair?_"

"The person who would rather Potter sit on them instead of some old chair," the other boy grinned. "I'm sure he wouldn't object."

"Oh, go away," Draco blushed, dropping his gaze to the library table they were sat at.

"Or you could go away," Pansy said in a bored voice. "Just go sit with him already, Draco. Blaise and I both know you want to, so I'm not sure what you're being so stubborn about other than trying to delude your own fucking pride into thinking you're too strong to give in to some imaginary misconception that wanting to be near the person you're shagging is some sort of personal weakness."

"You don't know what I'm thinking," he mumbled, wondering how she knew exactly what he was thinking. Sometimes he truly did miss Crabbe and Goyle and their inability to notice anything—Pansy and Blaise were far too observant and far too willing to voice their annoying observations. Why couldn't they be as daft and unobservant as he oftentimes told them they were?

"The lies and self-delusions are only so endearing, darling," Pansy said, flipping through her notes. "It's time that you were able to admit your own truths, Draco, even if it's only to yourself."

A sharp finger poked his arm, and Draco turned a glare onto Blaise. "Yeah, so get your albino arse moving already," the dark-skinned boy said, poking him again. "Before I decide to go keep him company myself."

Draco's glare deepened. "Not unless you've always fantasized about having your own prick hexed to your forehead."

Blaise chuckled. "Sounds interesting. Give me just a minute though to think of a horny unicorn joke and then I'll answer. Get it, Draco?" He dug his elbow into Draco's side. "Horny?"

"No, Blaise," Draco deadpanned, giving him the flattest stare he could muster, "your astounding wit and overwhelming maturity have once again been too much for me to grasp."

"That's all right, Draco," Blaise patted his head with a patronizing tilt of his mouth. "The point is that you tried your hardest."

Slapping his hand away, Draco huffed. "Are you just trying to annoy me into leaving so I go sit with Harry instead?"

"I dunno," Blaise shrugged. "Is it working?"

"More and more every second," Draco returned dryly.

"So what's stopping you then?" Pansy wondered, frowning down at the essay she was working on.

"Um, maybe the fact that he's not sitting alone?" Draco drawled sarcastically.

Blaise laughed. "Come on, Draco, you'll have to learn to play nice with his friends eventually."

"They should have to learn to play nice with me!" Draco argued, trying to ignore the childish whine to his voice. "I refuse to grovel for their forgiveness, and you know that they'll both be expecting some sort of long-winded, in-depth apology for the person I am and everything that's happened in our past!"

Pansy snorted. "Oh please, if Potter didn't demand or expect something like that from you, his friends certainly have no grounds to do so."

"Eh," Blaise disagreed, "Potter's judgment is clouded by lust. His friends' judgment is clouded by lingering dislike. Potter wants Draco to like him so of course he's not going to demand something like an apology from him."

"Exactly," Draco said instantly. "You know that stupid Weasley is just waiting for an opportunity to do something horrible to me, and his girlfriend will of course back him up with some sort of act of physical violence." Unconsciously, Draco rubbed at his cheek, lowering his hand when he realized it was the same spot that Granger had struck him in years ago, imagining for a moment that he could still feel it smarting.

Pansy raised both eyebrows at him. "And you really think Potter's going to just sit there and allow it? Now you're just being ridiculous, Draco."

Draco crossed his arms. "It's a valid concern."

"All right then," Blaise shrugged, and Draco tensed, wondering what that meant. "If you won't go over there and make nice with the Gryffindors, then I will. One of us needs to be the brave one, right?"

"Sod off!" Draco snapped, jumping to his feet. "You don't have the right to go sit with him, you prat!" Huffing angrily, he began gathering his books and notes together, slowing as he noticed the triumphant smirk on Blaise's face.

"So easy to manipulate," the other boy sighed, and Draco wanted to growl and sit back down just to prove to Blaise that he was wrong but ultimately decided that it would make him look more foolish than anything.

Giving in to the fact that he really had been manipulated by dumb Blaise, Draco finished gathering his belongings together and took a deep breath before stepping away from his table and beginning to slowly walk over to the table Potter and his friends were sat at, deciding his own friends did not even deserve a backward glance as he marched slowly and reluctantly away from them. His palms felt suddenly damp and his heart began to hammer as he neared the three Gryffindors, welcoming the heart attack he was sure to have any second if it would prevent him from having to sit next to Granger and Weasley. They would stare at him, he just knew it. They would stare at him in judgment and they would know how much he liked Harry—they would know that Draco had weaknesses, such as his ridiculous affection for Harry sodding Potter, who should not be so easy to be fond of. Stupid Potter and his stupid sweetness and stupid kindness and stupid attractiveness that made Draco want to be near him every single minute. Draco had always thought of himself as so strong and emotionally independent—when had he become so desperate for another person's attention?

Wishing he had never entered the library and faced this awful dilemma, he took a deep breath before pulling out the chair next to Harry and sitting down heavily, startling all three Gryffindors. Harry turned to him in surprise, eyes widening in delight as a smile spread across his face, and Draco struggled to keep a similar expression from taking over his own face at the sight. Across from him, he could see Weasley narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion, while next to the prat, Granger stared at Draco impassively.

"Hello, Potter," he greeted stiffly, uncertain how to act now that he was actually around all three of the Golden Trio. He had never spent any actual social time with Granger and Weasley before and had no idea what to say or what topics were safe to broach. He had meant it when he said that he would not be the first to apologize—his pride could only take so much injury, after all, and simply crossing the room to sit there in silent panic had bruised it far too much already.

"Hey," the brunet said softly, shifting his chair closer to Draco. "What are you doing here?"

"Pansy and Blaise were being annoying," Draco shifted uncomfortably, speaking down to his lap. "So I decided to come sit over here where I can't hear them."

"Hooray, we get to suffer instead," Weasley muttered beneath his breath, and Draco looked up to glare at the stupid redhead.

"You get to do nothing, Weasley, I didn't come here for _you_," Draco snapped, preparing to push away from the table and stalk back to his friends in the most undramatic way he could manage, but a warm hand settled on his thigh before he could.

"I'm really glad you came over here," Harry said softly, and Draco noticed Weasley reach down to rub at his shin with a pained look, as though someone had kicked it; it made Draco want to smirk at the git.

"Yes, well," Draco said, feeling rather flustered as he stared down at the hand Harry had on his leg, "that's how most people react to my presence, so it's not surprising."

Across from him, Weasley snorted in obvious disagreement, and Draco wondered how upset Harry would be with him if he were to cast a tiny hex at the obnoxious twat. It wouldn't hurt—much. It wouldn't hurt Draco, at least.

"I could use your help, actually," Potter said, shooting Weasley a pointed look. "I've been trying to figure out what Professor Tattersall was talking about today in class, that whole thing about fluid displacement within a solidifying potion and how to account for that beforehand, or whatever she was going on about? I didn't really understand it."

Draco spared a second to wonder why Potter hadn't simply asked Granger about it first before finally giving in to the smile that had been threatening to break across his face, feeling extraordinarily pleased at being asked his assistance with something. Pulling out his notes and texts, Draco tried his best to ignore the two Gryffindors seated across from him as he began to explain the day's lecture to Potter.

* * *

"So you see, Potter," Draco said several minutes later, the Potions text spread between them as the blond tried to explain the intricate theories of the day's lesson to the other boy, "All it's really talking about is being able to properly predict and compensate for the instability within a potion caused by the pockets of fluid that can sometimes build-up during solidification. If it's not all evenly distributed throughout the potion before it begins to harden, it will cause the foundation to become unstable and can render the potion completely useless, if not dangerous."

"Think of it like baking," Granger suggested, and both boys turned to her in surprise; Draco had nearly forgotten the other two Gryffindors were still there. "If you're making cakes and you don't mix the batter well enough, it will change the taste and texture of the final product, and you'll have lumps of flour that you don't want."

Draco wasn't sure how accurate that analogy was since he had never baked a single thing in his entire life before, but Potter nodded thoughtfully. "But it's not as easy as being able to just mix the lumps out," he pointed out. "It's this whole pre-compensation thing that's throwing me off. Potions are way too temperamental," he sighed. "I would definitely rather be taking a class in baking."

Draco patted his knee fondly, grateful for the table they were sat at, the one that prevented the other two Gryffindors from being able to see his small display of affection. "It's a concept that's more difficult to grasp in theory but far easier to understand in practical application. It's simply being able to understand the foundation and structure of the potion you're brewing. And this only applies to solidifying potions, which are certainly the more difficult types of potions to make."

"They're all the more difficult types of potions to make," Harry grumbled, and Draco couldn't help the smile that slid across his face.

"You'll understand better once we start actually practicing the concept in class," he told the brunet.

"Can't wait," Potter huffed.

"Don't worry, Potter," Draco grinned, "your future Auror career is safe. Granger and I won't let you get anything less than an O in Potions."

"Yeah, Harry," Weasley cut in, shooting Draco a sharp look, "_Hermione_," he stressed the name, "won't let you fail your N.E.W.T.s."

Draco glared as he laid a possessive hand over Potter's thigh. "And neither will his _boyfriend." _

"I sound lucky then," Harry cut in, glancing between Draco and Weasley with an uneasy expression, "to have so much help, yeah?"

"And such a great boyfriend," Draco said pointedly.

"The best," Harry grinned, bumping Draco's shoulder with his own.

Weasley coughed loudly, an ugly hacking noise that sounded suspiciously like the word "not".

Narrowing his eyes, Draco shot the redhead the dirtiest look he could muster. "What a hideous cough that is, Weasley. If you're so diseased, perhaps you should go to the Hospital Wing." _And then stay there forever._

Weasley narrowed his eyes right back at the blond. "The only thing making me sick is the sound of your voice, Malfoy. Maybe you should go away and I won't need to go to the Hospital Wing."

"Ron," Granger said in a warning voice, and the redhead shot Draco a look of disgust before turning to her.

"Oh come on, Hermione, don't act like he isn't the worst!"

Draco raised a sardonic eyebrow. "After yourself, you mean?"

"No," Weasley shot back, "I mean after every other member of your pathetic family."

"Oh, are we talking families?" Draco asked flatly, feeling his limbs tense in anger. "Because a Weasley mentioning families and levels of patheticness in the very same sentence is ironic enough to be laughable."

The tips of Weasley's ears turned red. "Yeah, _my_ family's the fucking disgraced one, Malfoy, sure."

"Yes, I agree completely," Draco said smoothly, struggling to keep his tone even. Beside him, Potter appeared to be growing somewhat panicked. "They always have been, after all. Why change up tradition now?"

The red tint in Weasley's ears seemed to be spreading throughout his entire face. "Oh yeah, Malfoy?" he asked aggressively, leaning forward in his seat. "At least _my _parents aren't—"

"Stop it!" Granger suddenly snapped, glaring between the two boys. "Stop it right now, the both of you!"

The words, although clearly intended to keep some sort of peace, only made Draco angrier. He didn't have to listen to orders from Granger, of all people. Opening his mouth to tell her just that, he was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

"Draco, please," Harry said quietly, and Draco looked over to find the brunet visibly upset, the sight twisting something inside Draco's chest.

"I don't think my coming over here was such a good idea," Draco sighed, wanting to apologize to Potter for upsetting him but knowing he would not be able to in the presence of the other two, and there was no way in hell that he was going to be the first to apologize to Weasley. If Weasley wanted to apologize to him, however, Draco would be the gracious one and willingly hear him out. And then mock him for it. And then most likely refuse it since the other boy was a prat.

Weasley opened his mouth to say something but Granger silenced him with a look. Taking that as his cue to leave, Draco began to gather his belongings together, shoving them into his bag and rising from his seat. "I'll see you around, Potter," he muttered, catching the strap of his heavy book bag from sliding off his shoulder as he swung around and began to stride back to the table Pansy and Blaise were still sat at.

Collapsing into the seat he had originally been sat in, Draco dropped his bag to the floor and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. "Well, that was a fucking disaster," he ground out. "I knew it was a stupid idea, why the fuck did the two of you let me go over there?"

"What happened?" Pansy wondered, peering at him closely as though the answer to that question was written on his face somewhere.

"Stupid Weasel is what happened," Draco explained, continuing to massage his temples. "I honestly have no idea how Potter is friends with someone as fucking irritating as that stupid fucking annoying sodding twat-faced fucking wank head."

"Wow, Draco," Blaise drawled, "I can't imagine why Weasley might not like you."

"He was the one who was a git first!" Draco glared, earning an eye roll.

"I think it's more a consistent thing between the two of you by now, actually," Blaise said calmly.

"We know that he's a horrible irritating wank head with a face like a twat," Pansy said, patting Draco's hand soothingly, "but he's Potter's best friend. You have to at least try to get along with him, Draco, if you want this whole relationship thing to actually work out."

"Yeah, maybe," Draco acknowledged with obvious reluctance. "God, I miss the days when I could insult the tosser all I pleased without feeling guilty about it. Stupid feelings," he grumbled. "I hate having feelings."

"But feelings love having you," Blaise grinned.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That doesn't make a single ounce of sense, you realize."

"Oh hush," Blaise retorted cheerfully. "I'm witty and you know it."

"You aren't and nobody knows any such thing."

"Hey," a voice said, and all three Slytherins glanced up to find Potter standing near their table, fidgeting nervously.

"Potter," Blaise greeted, and Draco wanted to kick him for daring to assume that he had in any way been included in Potter's _hey_ that had clearly been meant for Draco alone.

"Er, hey, Zabini, Parkinson," Potter said awkwardly. "Can I talk to you, Draco?"

"You can talk here," Blaise said with a gesture to an empty seat. "Don't exclude us now, Potter. As possibly the only individuals in the entire world who support the two of you being together, Pansy and I are just as involved as Draco. We're an invested part of this relationship now, you know."

"No," Draco glared, "you are not. Neither of you is." He turned to the brunet. "If we can leave this library, Potter, I will gladly speak to you." However, the moment he had risen from his chair, he wondered if the conversation would be a pleasant one or if Potter meant to yell at him for speaking to his best friend in such a rude manner. _Weasley started it,_ Draco thought stubbornly, before pausing to think back as he tried to remember if the redhead really had started it. But it had to have been Weasley, because either way, it had been started, and Draco was certainly not going to claim credit for its start.

Gesturing for Harry to lead the way, Draco trailed behind him as they exited the library, feeling himself grow more and more nervous as they continued in silence for several minutes. "I'm sorry," he blurted suddenly, unable to take Harry's quiet upset any longer. "I just wanted to sit with you, I certainly did not go over there with the intention of fighting with the Weasel. Er," he flushed apologetically, "I mean Weasley. I—fuck, that is going to be a hard habit to break." Sighing, he risked a glance at Potter, who still had not said a word. "Are you angry with me?" Draco asked in a small voice, staring down at his shoes as though they were the most fascinating things in the world, something he was glad was not actually true, since Draco would not be able to take existing in a world so dull that staring at shoes could in any way be considered interesting, no matter how expensive and nice the shoes really were. Which, of course, they fucking _were._

"No," Harry answered, falling silent, and Draco felt as though that _no _had really been a _yes_.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, hating how uncertain and uncomfortable he felt. Lord, who would have ever guessed there would come a day when he would actually be apologizing to Harry Potter for insulting Ron Wank Head Weasley. It was not a day that even Trelawny could have ever predicted.

The thought made Draco frown. Okay, it was not a day that _especially _Trelawny could have ever predicted.

"It wasn't exactly one-sided," Potter shrugged in response, but there was a stiffness to his shoulders that Draco did not like.

"I didn't fight with Granger," Draco offered helplessly, unsure what else to say to make the tense lines in Potter's shoulders disappear.

"No, you didn't," Harry agreed with a wry smile.

"That's at least some sort of progress, isn't it?" Draco had every hope that more progress could be made with Harry's friends, just as soon as Weasley stopped being such an insufferable knobhead, something the blond did not actually have too much hope of ever happening. So, maybe not very much hope for progress after all.

Huh.

"Yeah," Potter sighed, but he reached out one hand to tangle his fingers with Draco's own, and the blond released a breath at the realization that Harry was not about to break up with him and was no longer upset enough to keep a distance.

"I promise to be better next time?" Draco said uncertainly, wondering if Potter would even allow there to be a next time—maybe he would forbid Draco and Weasley from ever being near one another ever again, which was something that, while Draco would be more than okay with such an arrangement, would ultimately hurt Potter, and Draco did not want that. God, being in a relationship was bloody inconvenient at times.

"Yes, you will," Harry said firmly. "And so will he. I just—" he paused to rake his free hand through his hair, "I just want you to get along with them, Draco. Please. I mean, I get along with Zabini and Parkinson, don't I?"

"Yes, but they're not actively trying to tear us apart," Draco pointed out.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Ron's not trying to tear us apart. Not really, anyway. He's just…having a hard time accepting the situation."

"It's not really his place to accept it though, is it?" Draco sniffed, hating the reminder that very few people in the world would be okay with the two of them being together. "It's not any of his business."

Harry gave him a flat look. "Are you saying that you would be okay with it if Parkinson and Zabini were dead set against us dating?"

"But they're not." Draco failed to mention the real reasons why they were not opposed to his dating Potter.

"And I'm glad for that," Harry nodded. "Really. But I want my friends to be okay with it too, and they never will be if you and Ron are always at each other's throats."

"All right, Potter," Draco huffed. "I shall try my hardest to get along with Weasley. For _your_ sake, not his."

"I'm fine with that," Harry sighed in relief. "As long as there's no fighting, I don't mind the reason."

"Will I get rewards for being nice?" Draco asked in a low, soft voice, smiling to himself as Potter grinned at him.

"If it'll help keep the peace, then absolutely."

"We could start right now," Draco suggested slyly, caressing the back of Harry's hand with his thumb. "A pre-emptive reward for future good behavior."

"I don't think that's how rewards work," the brunet chuckled.

"You clearly need to expand your definition of a reward," Draco said distractedly, scanning the hallway they were strolling down before grinning to himself at the sight of a broom cupboard up ahead. Tugging Harry along faster, Draco dragged the brunet to the cupboard and shuffled the both of them inside, lighting the dark interior with a spell as he pushed Harry up against the closed door before kissing him.

"Is this your idea of a reward then?" Potter asked breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist. "'Cos I can't really tell who's meant to be the one being rewarded."

"Consider this part apology toward you, part reward for me, and part selfish desire for us both," Draco smiled, leaning forward to kiss him again, feeling smug as Potter melted against him and groaned into his mouth.

"I still can't tell who's meant to be the more selfish one in this situation."

Draco's smile widened. "If you're giving me the option to choose, Potter, then I say it's you."

"I think I'm all right with that," he chuckled, tightening his hold on the blond. "I'll freely admit to being selfish when it comes to you, Draco."

Draco hummed as he stole another kiss. "Well, I guess that makes me the selfless one today, doesn't it?"

Without waiting for a response, Draco locked his eyes with Harry and sank slowly down to his knees, listening in satisfaction to the way Harry's breath caught as his eyes widened in surprise.

"Draco," he whispered, stroking the side of Draco's neck with gentle fingers.

The touch was so soft and intimate that Draco had no choice but to revel in it for just a moment, smiling to himself before reaching out to lift Harry's shirt high enough to begin planting lingering kisses across the lower half of his torso. Above him, Harry made a quiet noise of pleasure as Draco's tongue darted out to lick along the warm skin just above the waistband of Potter's jeans, and Draco couldn't resist biting down just a bit on the hard muscle of the other boy's abdomen.

God, why was Potter allowed to be so goddamn fucking fit?

Reaching up, Draco brushed the stiffening peaks of Potter's nipples with the tips of his fingers as he continued spreading biting kisses along his stomach, loving the way it made Harry squirm. The sight made Draco feel unexpectedly bold, twisting and tweaking both nipples in turn before dragging his hands down the sides of Potter's torso.

"God, Draco," the brunet moaned, "I'm going to come before anything actually happens if you keep all that up."

Draco raised a mocking eyebrow. "And you think that will somehow upset me?"

"But I really want you to actually touch me," Harry laughed breathlessly, running his hands through Draco's hair and making Draco want to nearly purr, for some strange reason, which was perhaps the oddest reaction he had ever had to a physical touch in his entire life. _Human beings do not purr_, he reminded himself sternly.

Ignoring his sudden strange cat-like instincts to make inhuman animal noises—he was clearly spending too much time around Pansy and her weird bird sounds—Draco pulled himself back into the moment enough to respond. "But I am touching you, Harry," he replied as innocently as he was able to. "See?" Leaning forward, he sucked a wet, noisy kiss into Potter's stomach, gnashing his teeth against the skin and sucking again for good measure.

"You know what I mean, you prat," Harry chuckled, tugging his shirt up over his head to give Draco better access.

Draco tsked. "Insults won't get you what you want, you know."

"I meant prat in the best way possible," Potter smiled, settling back against the door.

But the words made Draco pause as he leaned back to consider the other boy. "Is there ever a time when prat can be meant in a positive way? Like in the entire history of verbal insults and the spoken word, has the word 'prat' ever been seen as a term of endearment? _Ever?_"

"Draco," Harry groaned, trying to coax Draco's head forward enough to meet his skin once more. "Why are you asking unimportant questions about the history of things? Don't make me beg you to keep going."

"Why ever not, Harry?" Draco grinned, tickling his fingertips along Potter's ribs. "I rather like people begging me for things, you should know that. And this is a rather big thing."

Harry laughed. "How would you know how big it is, Draco?" he asked slyly, "You haven't even seen it yet."

The words made Draco blush, the color in his cheeks darkening as he realized that Potter was teasing him instead of begging like he was supposed to be doing. Damn it, why wasn't Harry inarticulate with desire?

Well, Draco decided, feeling determination settle over him, he would just have to see what he could do about rendering the other boy speechless and insane with lust. Feeling resolved, Draco reached out to undo the fastenings to Harry's denims, slowly tugging them down his legs to pool at his feet, leaving Potter clad only in navy pants. He pulled the pants down just far enough to expose one pale hipbone, leaning forward to nibble a series of kisses across it, alternating between lips and teeth until Harry was nearly shaking.

Pulling his pants down just a bit more, Draco moved to the other side and repeated the same torment on the other hip, scraping his teeth down to Harry's thigh and biting sharply before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Draco," Harry gasped, clutching almost desperately at Draco's shoulders. "God, _please!_ _Please_, just—just—"

"Shhh," Draco quieted, pressing a final kiss to Harry's stomach before pulling his pants down to meet his jeans on the floor, suddenly finding himself face-to-face with a dripping wet, fully erect cock. The sight made a stinging surge of sudden nerves shoot through him as he wondered if he would actually be able to bring Harry off. What if he couldn't do it? What if Potter didn't come? What if Draco took him into his mouth only for Harry's cock to immediately go limp because Draco was so terrible at sucking it? What if Draco had a weird raspy cat tongue that wouldn't feel good on such a sensitive part of the body? What if Draco tried too hard to be good at giving head and choked as a result? What if he died? What if he suffocated to death? What if Potter laughed at him and he then had no choice but to die of embarrassment? Oh god, what if—

"Draco," a soft voice said above him, and Draco's panic began to slow as he looked up to meet Harry's gaze, somehow seeming both gentle and intense all at the same time, and Draco wondered how the brunet was able to achieve such an expression—it seemed to be an expression completely unique to the other boy.

Feeling the determination from earlier settle back over him, Draco squared his jaw and reached out one hand to wrap around the base of Potter's cock, curling the other hand around the boy's hip. Taking a deep breath and praying that he wouldn't do anything stupid, like suddenly forget how to breathe through his nose and choke as a result, Draco leant forward to guide the cock held firmly in his hand into his open mouth.

As it slid past his lips, Potter gasped, one hand flying to Draco's hair to tangle in the strands, tightening reflexively as Draco took even more of the stiff prick into his mouth. He hummed in surprise upon discovering that he actually was still able to breathe, pleased to note that the pathway leading from his nose to his lungs had apparently not suddenly stopped working or somehow been damaged by the cock sitting heavy on his tongue. Pulling back, Draco licked along the shaft, wanting to explore every centimeter of it that he could. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along the thick vein running up the underside as he lightly twisted one hand around the head, pushing Harry's foreskin back and rubbing the leaking slit with one thumb.

"_Fuuuck_," Harry moaned, every muscle in his torso tensed tightly. "_Fuck_, Draco, holy _shit!_"

The expletives made Draco feel ridiculously pleased with himself, wondering what other sorts of profanity he could coax from Potter's mouth. Taking the organ into his mouth once more, he hollowed his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could, surprised when Harry's hips jerked forward in response. He bobbed his head several times before pulling off to catch his breath, continuing to stroke the full length of the shaft as he did so. He leaned forward to lick under the head of Harry's cock before kissing the ridge connecting the head and the shaft, sucking at the fold of skin along the underside.

Above him, Harry panted wildly, one hand twisted so tightly in Draco's hair that he feared magic might be the only thing able to untangle the strands from the other boy's fingers. Smirking to himself at the reaction he was getting, Draco pushed the foreskin further back and placed just the head of Harry's cock on his tongue, licking and sucking as he stroked the shaft, speeding his movements up as Harry's breath came faster and faster.

A single broken cry was his only warning before Draco's mouth was suddenly full of warm liquid, bitter and unpleasant and Draco wondered if it would be considered rude to spit it out, but eventually swallowed it with a mental shrug as he decided he would only have to get used to the taste, because that was certainly not the last time he would have his mouth on Harry in such a way. The feeling of power and rush of adrenaline at the realization that he had reduced Potter to a shaking, quivering mess was nearly staggering. The brunet was still struggling to catch his breath, sounding as though he had just run five kilometers.

"Holy fuck, Draco," Harry said weakly, thighs trembling before he collapsed onto his knees before the blond, not hesitating to tug Draco forward into a fierce kiss. "Oh my _god_."

Draco wanted to smirk and ask him if it was any good—even though it could not be more obvious that it had been spectacular—but Harry was once again kissing him, and pulling away from it never even crossed Draco's mind.

Blindly, Harry reached down to fumble with the jeans still tangled around his ankles, wrestling his wand from the fabric and murmuring a spell into Draco's mouth before suddenly shoving Draco onto his back. At the unexpected move, Draco startled, expecting the floor to be ice-cold and filthy, and surprised when he landed on something soft. Glancing down, he noticed that Potter had transfigured part of the floor, now more closely resembling a rather firm mattress beneath him.

"Been practicing that particular spell long, have we, Potter?" Draco asked in amusement, smiling as Harry kicked his clothing free and settled on top of the blond with a grin.

"You didn't really think I'd be expecting you to lay on the actual floor, did you?"

The words made Draco pause, unsure if that had been an incredibly sweet thing to say, or if that was Harry's way of calling Draco fussy. In the next second, however, it didn't matter, as Harry wrenched Draco's starched shirt up as high as it could go, ignoring the many buttons, something Draco was grateful for. _Fuck buttons_, he thought to himself as Harry began to lick and kiss the exposed skin of his torso.

"You are so fucking hot, Draco," the brunet groaned, licking over a large patch of skin before breathing hotly over the area, earning a shiver from Draco in response. "_Fuck!" _

Without another word, Harry tore open the fastenings to Draco's trousers before ripping both trousers and pants down his legs in one smooth tug, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder before raking a heated stare over Draco's mostly naked body.

"So fucking hot," the brunet repeated in a reverent whisper, trailing his hands along the length of Draco's torso and down his thighs before sweeping back up to repeat the process several more times.

"Harry," Draco whined, desperate to have the other boy's touched where it actually mattered.

"I love hearing you say my name," Potter murmured, rewarding Draco with a single long lick up the length of his shaft.

"I'll say it all you want if you just put your mouth on my cock already!"

"Deal," Harry agreed instantly, lowering his head with no further hesitation and swallowing nearly the entire length of Draco's prick. Draco's back arched as he gasped, his breathing growing heavy as Potter lowered his head even further, holding Draco's cock in his throat, pressed against his tongue for as long as he could before he had to pull back to breathe.

"_Fuck_, do that again, Harry," Draco begged, burying both hands in Potter's thick hair and gripping tightly.

Even without looking, Draco could feel Harry's smirk as he dipped back down obediently and took Draco back into his mouth, lowering his head slowly until he had taken in as much of Draco as he comfortably could, breathing through his nose and humming on the exhale. The vibrations seemed to tingle through Draco like a static charge, making him throw his head back sharply against the Transfigured floor.

"God, _Harry!" _he cried, biting his lip to keep a whimper from spilling free as Potter sucked back to the tip and began bobbing his head, working his mouth up and down the shaft with an enthusiasm that made Draco feel weak.

"I want you to come, Draco," Harry pulled back far enough to murmur, looking Draco directly in the eye with a gaze full of fire. "I want you to come in my mouth."

Helpless against the words Harry had spoken and the desire in his eyes, all Draco could do was nod as Harry lowered his head and began building a quick tempo, wet tongue sliding over Draco's aching dick as he felt himself tensing, every muscle in his body tightening until finally, he came with a cry, a sharp sound that would have startled him if he had any room in his brain left to be startled. But there was no room for anything in the onslaught of the overwhelming pleasure rushing through him.

"Fuck, Potter," Draco panted as his body finally went limp and relaxed back into the floor. "You should teach classes."

Harry smirked, crawling up Draco's body to collapse next to him. "What, classes on how to suck cock?"

"Just think how catchy the name would be," Draco grinned, turning into Harry's body as he began tracing shapes across the skin of Harry's arm. "You could make millions. 'Cock-Sucking Classes with Professor Potter'. I can see the mile-long lines now. You could even publish your own book—'How to Suck Cock Like a Hero'."

Harry laughed fondly, shaking his head at Draco. "I feel as though you're trying to compliment me but are inadvertently calling me a slag in the exact same sentence."

"Oooh, 'inadvertently'," Draco teased, feeling happier and more relaxed than he could remember feeling…well, ever, really. "What a big word for you, Potter, I'm impressed. You could use big words like that in your classes just to make you seem more professory and legitimate."

Harry raised one eyebrow in amusement. "You want me to improve my vocabulary to use in classes based solely around how to suck a man's dick just to make me seem more professional by using big words?"

"Everyone loves an educated cocksucker," Draco grinned. "I think it would comfort your students to know how classy their cock-sucking professor really is."

"I think I'll save those particular talents for you," Potter chuckled, and Draco couldn't help but smile like a sappy fool—god, he was glad he couldn't see his face at that moment, because he was certain he looked like nothing short of a smitten idiot, and he knew that if he caught sight of himself, he would have no choice but to Obliviate the both of them. And he would really rather prefer to not ever forget that moment.

"If you wish to be selfish with your gifts, Potter, I suppose all I can do is oblige you."

"How selfless of you, Malfoy," the brunet murmured, rolling on top of Draco to steal a kiss.

"I know, right?" Draco sighed, tugging Harry back down for a much deeper kiss.

They spent several happy minutes snogging until a sudden shiver from Draco interrupted and forced their attention back to the cramped confines of the dirty cupboard they were still in.

"Guess we really can't stay here, can we?" said Harry regretfully.

"We'll have to if you lost my pants, Potter," Draco warned, sitting up and glancing around. "Where the hell did you throw them? They better not have landed in any cobwebs or cleaning supplies!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can just wear mine then, princess."

"Ew," Draco wrinkled his nose. "I am not wearing your pants, you dirty sod."

Harry laughed, shooting him an incredulous look. "You do realize that you literally just had my cock in your mouth, don't you? But wearing my pants is too much for you?"

Draco blushed. "Yes, well…" he trailed off, unsure what to follow up such a spectacular beginning to a sentence with.

"God, Draco," Potter chuckled. "I don't think you could be any cuter if you were to actually try."

Draco fixed him with a flat look. "Would you care to try for a more flattering adjective, Potter?"

A smile slid across Harry's face as he pushed Draco onto his back and leaned down into him. "Or what, Malfoy?" he whispered, pressing several light kisses along Draco's jaw. "What will you do if I call you cute? Or," he released a fake gasp, pretending to look horrified, "_adorable_, even."

Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore the pleasant feel of Harry's wandering kisses. "You wouldn't dare, Potter. Not even you would dare call me such an awful word."

Gazing down at him with a large grin, Harry pressed a kiss to Draco's mouth before pulling back. "Adorable," he said firmly, happiness coloring every syllable.

"Git," Draco replied, struggling to keep the smile off his face.

"Yes, Draco, I know," Harry nodded seriously. "You really are an adorable git."

"And now you have to get off me," Draco told him, shoving his way free and turning his head so Potter could not see his smile.

Harry refused to go far, however, instantly molding himself to Draco's back and biting playfully at his shoulder. "Get off on you, did you say?"

"No, I most certainly did not," Draco warned, plucking up Potter's nearby wand and using it to summon his scattered clothing.

"Oh, get off _near _you," Potter amended, still refusing to move. "I must have heard wrong, my mistake."

"Still incorrect."

"Oh, get off _with _you, got it," the brunet said, and Draco could feel his smile against the skin of his back.

"No!"

"Get off _under_ you?"

"_Potter._"

"Get off beside you?"

"Potter!"

"Get off _inside _you?"

"You know very well what I said, Potter!" Draco continued in the same earlier warning tone.

"Hmm, but I know better what you _meant_," Harry said in a low voice, kissing the back of Draco's neck. "And I think my last suggestion definitely has some merit! Don't dismiss my good ideas so quickly, Draco. I'm some sort of classy intelligent sex professor, after all, according to you."

"You are impossible is what you are," Draco told him, blushing at the image of Harry _getting off_ inside Draco. _God_. It made him shiver just thinking about it. Getting buggered by another bloke was not an idea Draco had ever really spent very much time actively imagining, but now that he was, he was finding it far easier than he would have guessed to actually imagine such a thing. Harry looming over him, thrusting into him, groaning his name as he pressed deeper and deeper, making Draco scream as he fucked him hard and fast…

"What are you thinking about?" a sly voice asked in his ear, and Draco snapped back into himself, swatting distractedly at Harry over his shoulder before beginning to pull on his clothing, ignoring the embarrassing question. Potter obviously knew what Draco had been thinking about, since the prat had been the one to put such thoughts in his head in the first place.

"Bowtruckles," he said as casually as he could.

"Bowtruckles?" Harry raised an eyebrow skeptically as he began to copy Draco by starting to pull his own clothes as well. "Really?"

"Yep," Draco nodded. "I've just always found them to be fascinating creatures, haven't you? Well worthy of thinking about."

"Oh, of course," Harry agreed, earning a puzzled look from Draco. "But that fascination you have with them wouldn't have anything to do with their rather phallic-looking appearance, would it?"

"_What?_" Draco spluttered, staring at him in shock. "They do not look like penises, Potter!"

"Eh," Potter shrugged, smiling innocently at him, "more so than any other magical creature you could have pretended to be thinking about. Besides unicorns," he said thoughtfully. "I suppose their horns are definitely more phallic than a bowtruckle."

Draco ground his teeth. "Why the hell are we talking about wild animals that resemble erect penises?"

"Because you had erect penises on your mind. Just like a unicorn," Harry grinned. "Get it, Draco? 'Cos the horn comes out of their head, so it's like they always have erections on their mind?"

"You have clearly been spending far too much time around Blaise," Draco decided, staring at the smiling brunet in disbelief.

Harry's grin widened. "Your friends love me."

Draco's restraint broke as he smiled back, no longer able to fight the expression. "You act as though the three of us are not inherently kind-hearted and welcoming people."

"The three of you are…" Harry struggled for an adjective, "people, I'll definitely give you that."

"I suppose I'll just have to take it then," Draco allowed, shaking his head in amusement.

"Oh yeah?" Harry shifted closer, pulling Draco back against his body and resting his chin on Draco's shoulder. "Will you always take anything I give you so easily, then?"

"Christ, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes, blushing. "You really are a dirty sod. How often do you think about sex?"

Harry chuckled. "The problem isn't so much that I'm constantly thinking about sex, it's more that I'm constantly thinking about _you_, and thoughts of you always lead to thoughts of sex. Sooo…I guess I really do think about sex a lot," he frowned. "Hmm."

"You learn new things about yourself every day, don't you?" Draco drawled sarcastically, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest caused by Potter's words. Did Harry really think about Draco constantly?

"Hey, I only think about sex with _you,_" Potter grinned. "So you can't really have any objections, can you?"

Draco frowned. He was pretty sure he could find objections if he really tried—Draco seemed to have an inborn talent for finding things to object to; Potter was clearly underestimating his abilities.

"You're trying to figure out a way to complain about it, aren't you?" Harry laughed. "Just because I said you shouldn't have a reason to object."

"You don't know me," Draco muttered, both pleased and displeased at how well Potter seemed to know him. Draco was far too complex to be so easily read, damn it!

Harry chuckled. "Come on then, mystery man, let's get out of this cupboard already."

Harry reached down to help him to his feet and Draco wondered if he should point out that he had been trying to get them out of that filthy cupboard for quite a while, but it had been Potter who had distracted them from leaving by being crass and arousing. Draco decided not to say anything as Potter opened the cupboard door, grateful he had chosen to remain silent as they exited the cramped room to the sound of applause.

Leaning against the opposite wall, clearly waiting for the two boys for who knows how the hell long, stood Pansy and Blaise wearing identical evil smirks.

"Well, look who finally emerged," Blaise drawled.

"We thought the two of you were going to be in there forever," Pansy added, sharing a laugh with Blaise.

"Yes, Draco," Blaise chuckled, "whatever could the two of you have been doing in there, hmm?"

Draco glared. "Not being a filthy pervert standing outside listening, you dirty fucker."

"Oh, I think _you're _the dirty fucker, Draco," Blaise responded, still sounding amused. Draco's face turned bright red and he glanced over to find Harry pink-cheeked but smiling.

"I can tell you for a fact, Zabini," the Gryffindor said, "that it was much better to be in that cupboard than to be standing outside it."

"We can imagine," Pansy said, gaze raking over the two embarrassed boys, and Draco flushed harder at the gleam in her eyes.

"Well, stop imagining!" he hissed. God, how had he ended up being friends with the two most shameless and depraved students in the entire school?

"No, I think I'll keep imagining," Pansy smiled innocently. "You can't tell me what to do with my own imagination, Draco."

"So what are we talking here?" Blaise interrupted as Draco was opening his mouth to respond to the girl. "What exactly happened in there? Fellatio or full-on fucking?"

"_What?_" Draco spluttered in outrage. "How the _fuck_ is that any of your business?!"

Blaise shot him a wounded puppy look. "Because we're your friends, Draco, and we care about you. Everything you do is our business because we love you."

"Yeah," Pansy cut in, "so stop trying to cut us out of this relationship already, it's clearly not going to work."

Draco grit his teeth. "Neither of you is a part of this relationship and it's long past time that you realized it."

"But we're the whole reason you two are even together!" Blaise argued, and Draco wanted to throw something at him. Something hard and possibly sharp.

"What does that mean?" Harry wondered, sounding confused, and Draco gave Blaise his best glare in a silent attempt to shut the stupid idiot up.

Blaise shrugged, ignoring the expression. "Well, Pansy and I—mostly me—were the ones to encourage Draco to approach you and give you a chance, obviously. You know how stubborn and proud he can be, Potter. Luckily for him, however, Pansy and I have taken it upon ourselves to act as his shoulder angels and help guide him down the proper paths of happiness and true love and all that sort of rot."

Harry stared at him incredulously for several moments. "_Shoulder angels? _The two of _you?_" he repeated in disbelief.

Blaise nodded seriously. "The most angelic angels to ever sit upon a person's shoulder and whisper commands into their ears."

"You do not command me to do anything!" Draco snapped. "I approached Potter of my own free will, now sod off!"

"Do you hear how he speaks to the people who love him most in the world?" Blaise asked Harry sadly. "All we did was love you, Draco, and encourage you to be happy. We are your fucking shoulder angels whom you love and cherish, so deal with it already and stop being such a cunt."

"Er…" Harry's brow furrowed as he fought a smile. "Is it normal shoulder angel behavior to call someone a cunt?"

"If they're being one," Blaise shrugged. "Which he clearly is by excluding us and denying our rightful place on his shoulder."

"_You're_ the cunt," Draco muttered belatedly, hearing Harry quietly laughing beside him.

"No," Blaise said patiently, "I'm an _angel_."

"And I don't want you anywhere near my shoulder!"

"Not when that shoulder is Potter's property, eh, Draco?" Blaise grinned, and Draco glared.

"Speaking of," Pansy cut in, "you never answered Blaise's question. Blowjobs or fucking, which one?"

"We're not going to fuck in a sodding broom cupboard, for Christ's sake!" Draco snapped.

"Ha! I knew it!" Pansy crowed, turning to Blaise with a triumphant air. "Pay up, Blaise, you absolute sucker! God, it is getting way too easy to take your money!"

As Blaise sighed and pulled a Galleon from his pocket, Draco's mouth dropped open in outrage. "You two bet on us _again?!_ Fucking stop doing that, you tossers!"

"Er, how often exactly do they bet on us?" Harry wondered, watching the silent exchange of gold.

"We're easily bored people," Blaise shrugged. "Don't take our entertainment away from us."

"Don't worry, Potter," Pansy said with a grin, "Blaise sucks at it. He has yet to win a single bet regarding your sex life with Draco."

"I will next time!" Blaise vowed. "Just as soon as Draco stops being such a prude and lets himself get fucked in a dirty broom cupboard to help his best mate win some gold. You selfish prudish prat, Draco."

"Just stop embarrassing yourself already and admit that I know him the best," Pansy said, reaching out to pat Blaise patronizingly on the shoulder.

Blaise narrowed his eyes at her. "Never, because you don't."

Pansy smiled widely. "Then I have no choice but to continue taking your gold from you, you sad hapless fool."

"Or the two of you could just stop betting on us," Draco told them sarcastically.

Blaise turned to him with a shocked expression. "But where would be the fun in that?"

"It would be in the 'not being murdered by Draco' part," the blond ground out.

"Hmm, that is a fun part of life, I suppose," Blaise allowed. "I certainly enjoy not being murdered by my closest friends."

"You suppose correctly," Draco nodded. "And if you want to continue having a life with which to have fun in, you will stop your stupid betting right now."

"I told you he would go straight to the death threats," Pansy grinned. "Pay up, Blaise!"

Draco's mouth dropped open as he watched Blaise pull another gold coin out of his pocket and pass it to Pansy with a reluctant sigh.

"And here I was thinking he would be a better friend than that," the other boy grumbled.

"I told you," Pansy grinned, "you will never know him better than I do. In fact, Blaise, you know him the least out of all of us, since you're the only one here to have never had any kind of sex with him."

Harry frowned at Draco. "You and Parkinson have had sex?"

"No!" Draco glared at her. "We have not! She's just referring to the time when she was so delirious and overcome with desperate lust that I had no choice but to take pity on her and grant the poor girl her greatest wish of going down on me. It was all done out of pity on my part, Potter, trust me."

She raised one eyebrow at him. "It was done out of even greater pity on _my_ part, Potter, trust _me_."

"Yes, Potter, don't worry," Blaise cut in, "Draco is still a blushing virgin, saving his blushing virginity for just the right person."

Glaring at the floor, Draco felt his face turn pink. "I hate the two of you so much."

"No you don't," Blaise said cheerfully. "And what about you, Potter? Blushing virgin or super stud?"

"Er…" Harry wrinkled his nose. "Are those my only choices?"

"We just want to know if Draco will be your first time as well," Blaise said innocently. "So answer the question and put our minds at ease. Prude or slag?"

"Um, neither?" Harry said uncomfortably.

"That doesn't really answer it, though," Blaise said in a prodding tone. "So come on, which is it? Virgin or not?"

"He's fucking not, all right?!" Draco snapped. "Jesus Christ, already!"

"Ha!" Pansy crowed loudly. "I knew it! Blaise, you fool, give me your gold!"

"Fuck," Blaise muttered. "I don't have any more gold on me, you cheating bint."

"That's fine, darling, you can pay me later," she allowed in a sugar-sweet voice. "And it's not cheating because it's like I told you—I have a much better understanding of men than you do, despite the fact that you are one."

"You two bet on whether or not I was a virgin?" Potter gaped.

"Of course," Blaise said smoothly. "And you can feel free to return the favor, Potter. We won't be offended if you bet on whether or not you think Pansy and I are virgins."

"Obviously not," Draco glared, "considering how big of slags the two of you are!"

"Virgin jealousy," Blaise whispered loudly. "It's a real problem amongst the untouched."

"Yes," Pansy nodded, "I remember it from back when I was still a young inexperienced thing."

"And now you're an old over-experienced thing," Draco sniffed.

"Ignore him, Potter," she said with an airy wave, "he's just bitter because I refuse to go down on him again, no matter how pitiable he becomes."

Blaise laughed. "Oh please, Pansy, like he needs you anymore for that sort of thing. Did you not hear the way he was practically screaming Potter's name in that cupboard?"

At the question, both Harry and Draco blushed, glancing at one another before flushing darker and looking away. "Would the two of you please just shut up now?" Draco said between clenched teeth.

"We can try, I suppose," Blaise said doubtfully.

"Blaise can try," Pansy shrugged. "But you know you're lost without my opinion, darling."

Draco sighed. "Do either of you ever actually hear the words that come out of your mouths? Or do you just say things and hope they're true?"

"I'll have you know that I choose my words very deliberately," Blaise grinned. "Each one is chosen specially and for a specific purpose. So sod off, hedgehog face."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Better than having a warthog face."

"Well, congratulations, because you have both."

"He really doesn't," Harry cut in, reaching out to grasp Draco's hand.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Says the unbiased party."

"I won't deny being biased," Harry chuckled. "But I was aware of how nice his face is long before he dragged me into that cupboard."

"Ha!" Pansy burst suddenly, smirking at a defeated-looking Blaise. "I knew it was Draco who took him in there! Blaise, you sad utter moron, you owe me so much gold!"

"Fucking hell," the dark-skinned boy muttered. "Really, Potter? You couldn't have been the aggressor this time? What kind of Gryffindor are you?"

Harry grinned. "The kind who likes being dragged into broom cupboards by Draco."

"I still say you should care about my monetary security more," Blaise said crossly. "After all, we're best friends. You should be trying to help me get rich, not losing me money by shattering all stereotypical expectations I had placed upon you without your knowledge."

"Er, sorry?" Harry offered, sounding amused.

Blaise sighed and waved the apology away. "I suppose it's fine this time, Potter, as long as you've learnt your lesson."

"You don't get to teach him any lessons!" Draco said sharply, tightening his grip on Harry's hand. "And you're not best friend, you're merely an unfortunate irritant in his life, one I apologize for inflicting on you, Harry."

"Let Blaise have friends, Draco," Pansy tutted. "Lord knows he needs more people in his life actually willing to tolerate him."

"But it's his own fault that he's so intolerable!"

"Yes, it is," Pansy nodded sympathetically, "and yes, he certainly is."

"Hey!" Blaise cried, glaring between the two of them. "I'm a delightful fucking bloke!"

"But," Pansy continued, ignoring Blaise's outrage, "if he wants to befriend your…" she slanted Potter a sly glance, "_lover_, then I think that's really all to your benefit, darling."

"You lot do realize that the choice is actually up to me, right?" Harry asked sarcastically, shaking his head in amusement. "And I'm fine with being friends with Blaise, just as long as I don't have to be a warthog."

Blaise sighed in exasperation. "Does he always ruin things at the very last second like that, Draco? Because that really is a habit to break now if the two of you want to have any sort of satisfying sex life."

Harry stared at him. "You know," he finally said, "I'm beginning to become a bit worried at how much you seem to think about mine and Draco's sex life. Surely there are other things in this world worth thinking about?"

"Are you asking me not to care about the personal lives of my two best friends?" Blaise asked in a shocked voice.

"I think they're asking you to be less creepy about it," Pansy told him with a grin.

"I've never been creepy a day in my life!" Blaise said firmly. "You two are the creepy perverts, running around sucking each other off in fucking cupboards!"

"Hmm, creepy or lucky?" Harry responded, offering Draco a smile, and Draco could feel the expression warm his skin like a burst of sunlight peeking out behind cold clouds.

"Yeah, Blaise," Draco said, turning away from Harry with difficulty, "when was the last time _you _were dragged into a cupboard to get your cock sucked?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Pansy," he turned to her, "drag me to the cupboard over there in order to do unspeakable things to me just so these two gits will stop being so damned smug."

"I think I'll pass," she said in a bored voice. "I'll take their smugness over your prick in my mouth any day of the week, thanks."

"Oh come on," he said in a wheedling tone, "we can't let Draco win by being the only one of the three of us to get his cock sucked today! I'll put your prick in my mouth if you put my prick in your mouth!"

"I haven't got a prick, you prick!" she squawked, and Draco snickered.

"Fine, then I _won't_ put your prick in my mouth and you can just have a sad unsucked prick."

Pansy glowered. "I haven't got a prick, you fucking twat-faced…" she struggled for several moments for an insult, "_prick!_"

Blaise snorted. "A twat-faced prick? Sounds a bit oxymoronic to me, darling. By definition, pricks are prick-faced. Twat-faces belong on twats, not pricks."

Harry laughed and spoke before Pansy could respond. "Has anyone ever told you three that you talk about genitals a _lot?_"

"They're filthy-minded people, Potter, ones who should not be encouraged," Draco told him.

"Um," Pansy began, "you do realize that he said the _three _of us, don't you? You were included in that too, Draco."

"A mathematical error," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "Harry obviously adores me far too much to ever find fault with anything I do or say."

Beside him, Potter snorted loudly. "I s'pose I won't argue with that."

"Ha!" Draco said triumphantly, turning to smirk at Pansy. "See?"

Harry snorted again. "I never said I _couldn't_ argue with that, Draco, just that I _wouldn't_."

"Semantics, Potter," the blond continued in the same airy tone as earlier. "The point is that you _didn't_ argue with it."

"I thought arguing was like foreplay for the two of you," Blaise said.

"No," Harry grinned, "_foreplay_ is like foreplay for the two of us."

"So what's your mainplay?" Pansy wondered, smirking at Draco, who flushed.

"I am not going to be the one to explain to you how sex works," he glared. Why were his friends always so dead set on embarrassing him into an early grave?

"But you're so cute when you blush, Draco," she smiled innocently.

"I hate flamingos," he muttered beneath his breath.

"You know how much better they do in their natural habitat," Blaise grinned. "Let's head back to the dorm already so Pans doesn't flip her flamingo beak. Potter, you coming?"

Before Harry could reply, however, they heard the shuffling sounds of people approaching, every head snapping in the direction of the distant library. Around the corner stepped Weasley and Granger, holding hands and laughing at something that Draco highly doubted was actually amusing.

"Oh, Harry! We thought you left!" Granger exclaimed, stopping short at the sight that greeted her. Harry and Draco were still holding hands, standing closer to Pansy and Blaise than Draco was sure Granger had ever seen the brunet stand. Next to her, Weasley was not even attempting to hide his horrified surprise at finding his best friend in such close proximity to the three most infamous Slytherins in the entire school.

"Harry," he said, pointedly ignoring the other three, "we were on our way back to the common room. Come with us."

"Er…" Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he looked at the three Slytherins, all of whom were staring at him in silence, waiting for his answer. Draco held his breath, wondering what the brunet would do. Would he obediently follow behind his annoying Gryffindors, deserting Draco and leaving him in humiliated silence, or would he stay with Draco and the others? Would he choose Draco, or would he choose his friends? Draco felt nearly dizzy from the panicked thoughts. "Blaise actually just invited me to go back to their common room with them."

"You mean the freezing cold horrible one in the dungeons?" Weasley deadpanned, shaking his head. "Well, now you don't have to. Now you can come to the better common room with us."

"Yes," Draco drawled, tensing in anger, "whatever would he do without your permission to go to his own common room. Thank god he has you in his life."

"Draco," Harry said quietly, slanting him a pointed look, but Weasley spoke over him.

"Yeah?" Weasley began, taking an aggressive step forward. "And what have you ever done for anyone's life, hmm? Other than being the world's biggest wanker and most annoying ferret."

Flushing, Draco opened his mouth to respond but was stopped by an explosive sigh from Harry. "Will both of you just shut the fuck up already, _please?!_" he snapped, appearing frustrated as he dropped Draco's hand to rub at his own temples. "I'm fucking sick of this! I want to spend time with Draco, Ron," he said to the redhead, staring at him fiercely. "And you need to accept that Draco and I are together! I like him, all right? I like Draco and I like his friends and so of course I'm going to want to spend time with them, even if they do spend most of their time talking about fannies and knobs!"

A smug grin fixed itself to Draco's face as Harry spoke but instantly vanished the second Harry turned his glare onto him. "And you!" he said fiercely, "You need to stop baiting him and stop responding to every little thing! You knew that Ron was my best friend before you and I ever even got involved so it's not a big shock to you that I spend so much of my time with him and Hermione!" He turned his glare onto everyone. "There are no fucking sides to be taken here, all right? This is not an 'us vs. them' type of situation, and I refuse to pick sides between my best friends and my boyfriend!" Panting, he stood there and continued to glare, his face red as everybody stared back in shocked silence.

"Ow!" Weasley suddenly yelped, and everybody looked over to find him rubbing his arm and scowling. "Erm, right, Harry. You're right. Sorry." His words were followed by a second yelp as Granger pinched him again. "Really?" he whined quietly, backing up a step at the threatening look she gave him in response. "Fine!" he sighed loudly, glaring down at the floor. "Sorry…Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth.

Harry turned a pointed look onto Draco, who immediately stopped smirking. "Really, Potter?" he said in a low voice. "Forced apologies? Are we twelve? Will you send us to our rooms if we don't comply? Will you take away our broomstick privileges?"

Harry looked away with a tight expression, one that Draco hated to see on his face, and he cursed himself for his own dumb affection for the other boy that had somehow made it necessary to apologize to a sodding _Weasley_, for fuck's sake. Draco spared a quick second to mourn for what his life had become.

"I'm sorry as well, Weasley," Draco muttered, crossing his arms. He could feel a pout on his lips but was unable to fight it.

"Good," Harry said stiffly, but there was something much softer in his posture as he turned back in Draco's direction.

"So," Granger said in an overly bright voice, one that made Draco want to cringe at how appallingly fake it was, "what are you still doing so close to the library, Harry? You left ages ago, we thought you would have been gone by now."

"Er…" Potter blushed, the color deepening as he looked over to find Draco smirking.

Pansy smirked as well. "Well, Granger," she began, earning a look from Granger that clearly said she had not been expecting Pansy to speak to her, "let's just say that there's a reason we're all stood so close to a broom cupboard right now, if you understand what I'm saying."

"Were you lot cleaning something?" Weasley asked, nose scrunched in confusion, and Pansy and Blaise laughed.

"Yeah," Blaise sniggered, "their spunk off each other's faces."

Weasley and Granger both turned pink at that, and Draco couldn't help but snicker at their embarrassed response.

"Don't underestimate our aiming skills, Blaise," Draco said smoothly, hoping for even more embarrassment out of the two pink-cheeked Gryffindors.

"You _were_ both on the Quidditch teams, so I s'pose your aim must be at least somewhat decent," Pansy said thoughtfully. "And there was that one time that Potter nearly swallowed the Snitch trying to catch it, so I suppose he really would be good at catching things in his mouth that he probably shouldn't try to catch in there."

Harry instantly turned red as Blaise laughed. "Five points to Pans, I'm afraid, Potter," he grinned, earning an embarrassed head shake from Harry.

"And Draco nearly choked on a Sickle once without any of us even knowing how it got there in the first place," she continued even more thoughtfully, "so I suppose Draco really would be good at getting things in his mouth that he probably shouldn't try to put in there."

Blaise opened his mouth to speak but Draco held up a finger in warning before he could. "If you give her points for that one, Blaise, I will find a spell to make you sprout cat hair all over your face, so help me god."

"Do it," Blaise grinned, "I'll be even more of a cheetah than I was without the cat hair."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Fine, then. I'll find a spell to make you grow warthog tusks."

Blaise shrugged, refusing to be threatened, and Draco scowled. "Do it. I'd be more curious to find out if a spell like that actually existed."

"I've come across a spell that will make a person sprout tusks similar to a walrus," Granger interrupted, and everybody turned to her in surprise. "Although, I've never found one that will cause a person to grow warthog tusks."

"Walrus tusks are good enough for me, Granger," Draco shrugged. "Blaise, congratulations, you're now half warthog, half walrus. I hope you feel talented."

"Would that make him a wartrus?" Pansy mused, tapping her chin in thought.

"Harry, what the hell are they talking about?" Weasley asked, sounding bewildered. "Hermione," he turned to her in confusion, "do you have any idea what the bloody fuck they're talking about? Is any of this making any sense to anybody?"

"Harry understands," Blaise replied, and Weasley's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in suspicion at Blaise's use of Potter's first name. "These are all inside jokes that I'm afraid only the four of us are privy to. Best friend stuff, that sort of thing."

Potter rolled his eyes. "I only know what they mean, I wasn't actually there for the creation of the joke, Zabini."

"Look at him not denying how we're best friends," Blaise beamed. Weasley gaped at him.

"Harry?" the redhead asked weakly.

"I told you I'd been spending time with them," Harry said quietly, eyes flicking between the two Gryffindors and the three Slytherins.

"Yeah, but I thought you were joking!" Weasley exclaimed. "I didn't think you actually meant you'd become friends with them now!"

"We are standing right here, you know," Blaise said dryly, eyes narrowed, and Draco was glad he wasn't the only one to find Weasley to be an utter prat. "And besides, Weasley, we're charming people. Mostly me. I'm the most charming, obviously."

Harry grinned at the words. "The most charming warthog in the entire country."

"Aaand, I take it back, Potter, we're no longer friends," Blaise sniffed. "Now wallow in your lonely heartbreak and pitiful misery."

"Oh no, however will I survive?" Harry said sarcastically, lips twitching.

"Stay strong is the only advice I can give you," Blaise said seriously, and Draco swatted his arm.

"Knock it off already!" he hissed. "I'm two seconds away from banning you from ever even being able to look at Harry ever again!"

Now Blaise looked amused, damn him. "And how exactly are you planning on doing such a thing, Draco? Put blinders on me? Spellotape my eyelids shut? Glare at me and hope I give in?"

Draco paused as he considered the question. "I suppose I could Vanish your eyeballs straight from your head," he mused. "That would save me a Sickle or two on Spellotape. Plus, I'm sure you would be much less of a pervert if you didn't have any eyes with which to perv on the unsuspecting masses."

"Do you lot always talk to each other like that?" Weasley interrupted, looking between the three Slytherins with a strange look, one that Draco was unsure what to make of. It wasn't friendly, but it didn't seem hostile either; Draco didn't know what it was.

"Like what?" the three Slytherins answered simultaneously, trading grins with one another.

"Like…_that_," Weasley waved his hand helplessly. "Calling each other warthogs and threatening to hex each other's eyes out of your heads and talking about cursing each other into growing animal tusks and all that bollocks."

The three Slytherins paused before Blaise shrugged. "I suppose we do. I've never really thought about it before. Why do you ask?"

"Maybe he wants to join your warthog gang," Pansy suggested. "Pack. Herd? What the hell do you call a group of warthogs?"

"A sounder," Granger answered immediately, and everyone turned to her in surprise.

"Good lord, really?" Blaise asked in amazement.

"No, there's no way you could know that off the top of your head!" Pansy argued. "That can't even be a real word! Potter, your friend is making up words at us!"

Granger huffed, but Draco thought he saw Weasley's lips twitch. "It's not my fault if you don't know the word," she muttered.

"Granger," Pansy slanted her a flat look, "_nobody_ knows that word. That's my entire point, it's not a real word."

"It's absolutely a real word!" Granger snapped.

"Bet you a Galleon, Pans, that it is," Blaise grinned, and Granger looked taken aback at him having sided with her on something.

Pansy stared at Granger for several moments before shaking her head. "No," she sighed, "I'm far too intelligent to ever bet against Granger's obscure facts. Even though," she held up one finger, "for all we know, she's been making up facts for years and everyone has simply gone along with it without argument because of her obsession with textbooks and learning and…knowing things."

"I think most people call that an education," Granger responded wryly, but Draco could see there was something almost pleased in her expression.

"Pansy was busy educating herself in other things," Blaise said slyly, elbowing her in the side, and she smacked him on the arm.

"And Blaise was busy educating himself in absolutely nothing," she shot back.

"Educating himself in wanking," Draco cut in, earning a grin from Pansy.

"That and nothing else," she agreed.

"Do I need to remind you about Daphne _again?_" Blaise sighed. "Why would I need to wank myself off when I had someone to do it for me?"

"Yes, but where is she now?" Pansy smirked, and Draco sniggered.

"Not waiting for him in any cupboards, that's for damn sure," Harry added, and Draco and Pansy laughed in agreement.

"Only desperate slags get sucked off in cupboards, Potter," Blaise said airily. "And I am neither desperate nor slaggish. Now, are we going to go down to the dorm and get sloshed already, or what?"

"You're going down there to _drink_, Harry?" Granger said disapprovingly, and Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"He's eighteen, Granger, relax. The alcohol was legally paid for and we're certainly not going to be sharing it with anyone else."

"They didn't even mention alcohol," Harry defended. "They just asked if I wanted to come down to the dorm with them."

"Yes," Pansy said patiently, "where we have the alcohol. Where else would we keep it, darling?"

Granger narrowed her eyes. "Is this something the three of you do often?"

"Relax, Head Girl," Draco drawled. "Especially considering the fact that you're not actually the Head Girl. Nor are you a prefect any longer. It's Friday—our classes are over, our homework is finished, and I think we've bloody well earned a drink."

"Out of our friendship with Potter and personal involvement in his relationship with Draco, the two of you are both welcome to come," Blaise said, holding up a finger in warning, "but only if we're not going to be subjected to a thousand lectures on the dangers of alcohol. Drinking with friends is meant to be a joyous occasion for all involved, and I will not allow anything into my dorm that does not contribute to the happiness and joy of the evening."

"Harry," Granger said in her usual bossy-cow-mothering tone, but Harry just shrugged.

"Come on, Hermione," he said in a wheedling voice, "they're right, it's Friday. And our homework really is done."

"If you don't want to come that's fine, Granger," Draco said, annoyed at her annoying perfect-prefect attitude. Did she really not realize that she wasn't a fucking prefect? Who the hell had ever told her that she was in charge of other people? "But don't prevent him from having fun if that's what he wants to do, since you're not actually his mother, if you hadn't realized, and not in charge of him. We're not going to be setting fire to anything or hexing each other blind. We're only going to be having a few drinks and laughing ourselves stupid. That's hardly a crime now, is it?"

"I suppose not, but still…" she allowed grudgingly, cheeks pink, and Draco suddenly grinned.

"You've never had a drink in your life before, have you, Granger?"

"What?" she spluttered, looking suddenly embarrassed, and Draco couldn't help but laugh. "How is that even something to make fun of someone for? Sorry for not spending every weekend night drinking my body weight in alcohol and every following morning peeling myself off the vomit-soaked floor."

"Oh, you are something precious," Pansy smiled, and although her words sounded mocking, Draco could see something genuine in her smile. "Did none of you lot ever go to a single school party?"

"School parties?" Weasley blinked. "What school parties? The school never throws parties."

"Well, no," Pansy smiled wider, "not publicized ones, at least."

"But Hufflepuff was always throwing secret parties," Blaise shrugged. "We haven't been to one since sixth year, but they were always dead decent parties. Say what you like about Hufflepuffs being daft wankers, but that lot knew how to fucking have fun. That last one at the boathouse got a bit crazy."

"How come we never got invited to any parties?" Weasley complained, looking to Hermione for the answer, but it was Pansy who responded.

"Well," she said, nodding to Granger, "no offense, Granger, but I'm guessing that you and your 'Headmistress vibe' are the reason none of you ever got an invite. You are without a doubt the most prefecty-prefect to ever wear a sodding prefect badge in the entire national history of prefects."

"You two were prefects as well!" Granger defended, crossing her arms.

"Yes," Pansy said, trading a look with Draco, "but we were such fun prefects."

"The most fun prefects in the entire national history of prefects," Draco added. "Even you can't deny that you've always been a strait-laced person, Granger. I suppose nobody wanted to take the risk that you would tell McGonagall about the party and get the whole thing shut down, and that fear stopped Weasley and Potter from being invited as well, through simple association."

"That's ridiculous," Granger huffed.

"Well, would you have told McGonagall if you'd known?" Draco asked, raising one eyebrow at her.

She said nothing, flushing darker in response.

"Exactly our point," Pansy shrugged. "So come or don't come, but know that if you do join us, there will be drinking and laughter and fun, so…be warned, I suppose."

"What about you, Weasley?" Blaise turned to the redhead, who was still appearing surprised by the news that there had been parties he had not been invited to. "For Harry's sake since he's our new best friend you're also welcome to come, but only if you can promise to play nice with the three of us. Especially Draco. I won't allow anyone into the dorm who's only going to pick a fight with him or make him feel bad about himself. He doesn't need that shit." Draco stared at Blaise in surprise, secretly touched at the other boy's open protectiveness of him. Blaise was so rarely serious, and it made Draco feel inwardly pleased at the thought of someone willingly defending him.

"What if he picks a fight with _me_?" Weasley folded his arms, looking off the side.

"He won't," Harry answered, staring hard at Draco, who sighed and nodded.

"No, he won't," the blond acquiesced, albeit reluctantly.

"Just so long as we're clear," Blaise said in a firm voice, "no fighting and no lectures. The choice to accompany us is up to the two of you." And without waiting for a response, he turned and began to stride away with Pansy at his side, their arms linked together.

"Come on," Harry said in a wheedling voice to the two Gryffindors standing uncertainly behind him, "it'll be fun, I promise. They're really funny people!"

"Excuse you, Potter," Draco corrected, "we are _hilarious_ people. I would thank you to get it right."

Harry rolled his eyes with a grin. "Hermione?" he turned back to them hopefully. "Ron?"

Weasley sighed heavily. "I really don't want this to be something we fight about, Harry, because I'm starting to realize that the more I try and fight this and change your mind about him, the more I'm only distancing myself from you. So…I mean, if Hermione's okay with it and you really are serious about him, then…yeah, I guess maybe the six of us could try and get along. Plus, they've promised alcohol and it sounds like we have some making up to do for never being invited to any of the sodding parties in the past."

Granger shifted her weight between feet, reaching up to fiddle with a thick brown curl. "I don't know, Harry," she said haltingly, "I don't think drinking in the castle is a good idea. It's most certainly against the rules, and—"

"Granger," Draco interrupted, "there _are _no set rules for us few eighth years. There has never been an eighth-year class in the entire history of the school. We are all legal adults and have been for quite some time now. We're not going to get caught because we're going to be in the dorm. It's only me and Blaise who share that room, so just relax already. Nobody is going to be expelled and nothing is going to get destroyed. Think of tonight as inter-House cooperation, yeah? Think of the firewhisky as a bridge between our differences."

"Yeah, Hermione," Weasley grinned, nudging her in the side, "think of it as a firewhisky bridge. Don't you want to cross the firewhisky bridge of friendship with us?"

Draco couldn't help but snort at the words. "Yes, Granger, where's your adventurous side?"

"I will come," she held up one finger, "for Harry's sake, and to make sure that nothing is set on fire and nobody is injured."

"That's the spirit of fun we were looking for," Draco drawled as Weasley and Potter grinned widely. "Come on, then. Christ, I can't believe I'm about to lead three Gryffindors down to the Slytherin common room."

"Harry and I have known where it is for years," Weasley said absently as they all started walking in the direction Pansy and Blaise had disappeared in.

"Yes, yes, I already know," Draco grumbled, not liking the reminder that he had been the one to show the two sneaky prats where the Slytherin common room was located.

"Told him that story, then, did you, Harry?" Weasley said, and Draco could hear the smirk in his voice without even having to turn around.

"Yep," Harry grinned, reaching out to take Draco's hand. "It's his favorite so far."

"Wretched lies," Draco insisted, trying not to smile at the warm look that Potter was giving him. "Hurry up if you don't want Blaise and Pansy drinking everything before we get there." Something Draco very highly doubted they would be able to achieve without killing themselves in the process, considering the amount of vodka and firewhisky the three of them had managed to smuggle into the castle at the start of term.

Everyone was getting wasted tonight, Draco knew that for certain.

* * *

A/N: Aaand that's the eighth chapter down! Hooraaaaay! Prepare for plenty of drunken best friend bonding in the next update! Should be good times :)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: In which alcohol is consumed, drinking games are played, Interhouse slumber parties occur, and penises are mentioned.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

"We'll start with something simple," Pansy said, gesturing to the shot glasses set up before everyone. They had levitated both beds against the walls to give them space in the center of the dorm, where they all sat on the floor in a circle. An air of uncertainty hung over the group, but the six of them seemed to be trying to ignore it as best they could. "We'll each take turns saying something like never have I ever…I dunno, got in a knockdown with someone older than me, or something, and if you have done that, you take a drink. Simple?"

"I'm really not sure about this, Parkinson," Granger said nervously, shooting her shot glass a mistrustful look.

"Don't worry, Granger," Pansy soothed, "I've watered all the shots down so nobody gets pissed too quickly and we can play as long as we like without getting alcohol poisoning. And I have pumpkin juice here as a chaser if anybody needs it. And this is a bonding game; it's one of the fastest ways to get to really know a person. We're about to learn everybody's secrets," she grinned, and Granger and Weasley traded uneasy looks.

"I'll start," Blaise said, tapping his chin in thought. "Hmm…never have I ever…" he paused to grin wickedly at Draco, "had sex on a friend's bed without them knowing."

Draco glared as both Pansy and Blaise took a shot but turned in surprise to find that Weasley's hand was trembling as both he and Granger raised their glasses to their mouths. Granger coughed and choked as the harsh liquid burned its way down her throat, automatically reaching out for the pumpkin juice Pansy had set next to her.

"Oh, I probably should have mentioned," Pansy smiled angelically, "Blaise and I did cast a compulsion charm on the drinks before you lot got here. There's no lying in this game, darlings."

"You hexed us?" Weasley growled, glaring at her.

"Of course not," Pansy rolled her eyes. "We're all under the same compulsion. All it does is make it impossible to lie during this game. So be careful with the questions you ask, because other people may just take their revenge by asking an even more personal question you have to drink at."

"If it was my bed," Potter interrupted, staring at Weasley and Granger with a disgruntled look, "then I really _really _do not want to know."

Weasley shrugged uncomfortably as Granger flushed, and Harry buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"See?" Pansy said brightly. "Aren't we learning so much about each other already?"

"But I didn't want to know!" Harry complained, words muffled by his hands. "I preferred ignorance, thank you."

"But now you do know," Pansy said sympathetically. "Don't worry, Blaise shagged Daphne in Draco's bed, so you're not the only one traumatized. And I shagged someone in Daphne's bed without her ever knowing, so it's full circle, really."

"Who did you shag in Daphne's bed?" Blaise asked in interest.

"Never you mind," Pansy sniffed, cheeks pink. "Your turn, Draco."

"Right…" Draco paused, trying to think of a question. "Never have I ever…looked through a friend's belongings without their permission."

The Gryffindors watched as all three Slytherins took a drink, taking small sips from the jug of pumpkin juice afterward.

"Well, aren't you three just the most morally compunctious ones in the room," Blaise grinned. "You really haven't ever snooped through a friend's things? Not even out of curiosity?"

"If you ever decide to," Draco drawled, "don't bother with Blaise. All of his belongings are boring."

"And if you ever decide to," Blaise narrowed his eyes, "don't bother with Draco unless you want to be traumatized by what he keeps in his trunk."

"Your turn, Potter," Pansy cut in, looking at them in exasperation.

"Oh…" Harry sounded surprised, as though he had forgotten he was next in the circle. "Um…never have I ever…er…faked an illness to get out of class?" Everybody but Granger took a drink.

"That's the most boring opening question I've ever heard in this game," Pansy shook her head. "Do try to come up with something more original for your next turn, please."

"All right, my turn," Weasley cut in. "Let's see…never have I ever…kissed someone that I didn't want to actually kiss."

Again, every single person took a drink, grinning to each other in wry amusement.

"All right," Pansy said, "let's hear them then. Blaise?"

He raised one eyebrow at her. "Do you not remember that Hufflepuff party in fifth year where Hannah Abbott wouldn't leave me alone? Poor girl was obsessed with me. Her persistence paid off, I suppose, in that she did end up getting a drunken pity kiss from me that night. Oh, and there was Draco, of course," he added in a casual tone, sniggering when Harry's hand twitched violently, knocking over his empty shot glass.

"_What?_" he demanded, glaring between the two Slytherins. "You two have _kissed?! _When? I thought you said just the idea was disgusting, Draco! You threatened to be sick all over me for even asking if the two of you were involved!" Blaise looked outraged and Draco had no choice but to huff a quiet laugh. "And you!" Harry turned to the other boy. "What about all that bollocks about you being the most heterosexual thing on the planet?!"

"Calm down, Potter," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Tracey once dared us to kiss during a game of Truth or Dare, it was not something that either of us would ever have initiated without being forced into it by outside forces."

"Oh," Harry said, eyes still narrowed suspiciously. "Well, that's all right then, I guess."

Blaise snorted. "Possessive one, isn't he, Draco? You do know that Pansy has snogged him way more times than I have, right?"

"That doesn't make me feel better," Harry glared down at the floor, and Draco chuckled as he leaned against his shoulder.

"Like you haven't snogged other people as well, Potter," he reminded him. "And if it makes you feel better, Blaise is the person whom I regret having had to kiss. I don't think I've ever fully recovered from the trauma."

"What about you, Potter?" Pansy asked with a grin, cutting off whatever outraged response Blaise had been about to make. "Who does the Saviour regret kissing?"

At the question, Harry flushed. "Er…well, I mean…I'm not really sure if I _regret_ kissing Cho and Ginny but, I mean…"

"We all know you're bent, you can say it," Pansy said in a dry voice.

"Fine, yes, because I'm bent," he sighed, rolling his eyes at her. "But also, over the summer, there was this one woman in Diagon Alley who spent nearly thirty minutes following me around before ambushing me outside Honeydukes. She just walked up to me and basically forced her tongue down my throat." He paused to shudder. "It was awful. She had to have been at least ten or fifteen years older than me."

Draco narrowed his eyes in anger. How dare someone do that to Harry! "What a bitch," he said calmly, rubbing Harry's shoulder with one hand. "I hope you hexed her away from you. And then kept hexing her. And then never stopped hexing her. Actually, I hope you're still hexing her right now."

Harry grinned at him. "Bit hard to do from here, isn't it?"

Blaise snickered. "Jealous one, isn't he, Harry?"

"What about you, Weasley?" Pansy cut in before Draco could respond.

His nose wrinkled. "Lavender Brown."

The name set Pansy off laughing, nearly falling over as she cackled. "Oh god, I remember seeing the two of you together! I won't lie, that was very entertaining for the three of us. We got quite a lot of amusement out of that particular relationship."

"Shut up," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.

"And you, Granger?" Pansy grinned, turning to the curly-haired girl, who fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Cormac McCarthy," she confessed, sounding embarrassed.

"That absolute twat?" Pansy began laughing even harder, and Blaise had to move the bottle of firewhisky away from her in case she knocked it over. "Oh god, Granger, _why?!_ I mean, even I couldn't stand his personality and I used to be a right bitch!"

"Used to be?" Draco and Blaise both asked at the same time, snickering as Pansy stopped laughing to glare at them.

"Seriously though," she said, turning back to Granger and pointedly ignoring Draco and Blaise, "girl to girl, now, Granger, why did you ever kiss that wanker?"

"Okay, _he_ kissed _me,_" she said firmly, "I did _not _kiss _him_!"

"Never have I ever kissed someone just to make another person jealous," Potter said suddenly, grinning as Granger threw back another shot with a glare. He started laughing as Weasley tossed back a shot as well, followed by Pansy.

"Oooh, Potter and Draco, look at us now with the high morals," Blaise grinned. "And look at those sad desperate fools on the other side of things, snogging others out of spite. Shame on you lot."

"Your turn, Hermione," Weasley reminded her, determinedly not looking at anyone but her.

"Um…" her nose scrunched as she thought, "never have I ever…" a wicked grin suddenly split her face as she looked at Potter, "never have I ever stalked anyone I've fancied."

Every single person laughed as Harry blushed and took a drink.

"Sometimes I really can't tell if he's more creepy or more romantic," Draco chuckled.

"Let's just go with romantic," Potter gasped, eyes watering as he tried to swallow his firewhisky without coughing.

"Only because you sound like you're about to die," Blaise allowed, "and it's rather bad form to mock someone on their death bed."

Harry slanted him a flat look but said nothing. More and more shots were taken as the game continued, until Draco was feeling pleasantly buzzed and the room was spinning just slightly.

"I thought Draco was such a prat when I first met him," Blaise said loudly, eyes overly bright as he grinned at the blond. "That was what I first loved about the little hedgehog."

"Hedgehog?" Weasley asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Harry laughed and Draco elbowed him. Well, he tried to elbow him, but stupid Potter was spinning just as much as the room around them and Draco ended up missing, falling in a heap on the floor behind the brunet with a muffled "Oof!"

Harry laughed even harder.

"It's my turn," Pansy said, the barest hint of a slur in her words. "Let's see…never have I ever…sucked off a bloke before." She grinned as everyone but Weasley and Blaise took a shot.

"Never have I ever gone down on a girl before," Blaise declared rather dramatically, and grinned as he and Weasley both took a shot, followed by a reluctant Potter. "Ha! I told you, Pans! I told you they weren't total virgins! Pay up, woman!"

Pansy just smirked back at him, ignoring the looks of shock on the faces of the two Gryffindors. "It's true that you did say that, darling, but if you'll recall, we never actually bet on it."

"What?" Blaise's face scrunched up as he thought back. "No, we must have! You're lying! Christ, woman, just let me win at least _one_ of my Galleons back off you!"

"Not a chance," she snorted. "But I do so enjoy the begging, feel free to keep that up."

"This, Pansy," Blaise said, narrowing his eyes, "this is why nobody is dragging you into broom cupboards to suck your flamingo cock."

Weasley snorted loudly. "Are you saying her cock _is_ a flamingo? Or that she has a cock that's like a flamingo's?" He laughed before suddenly growing silent and looking at Pansy with a serious expression. "Good lord, Parkinson, do you really have a cock?"

Draco and Blaise nearly fell over laughing, Draco collapsing into Harry's lap as he howled with mirth, the laughter doubling at the outraged look on Pansy's face.

"No, of course I don't!" she snapped, huffing loudly as Draco and Blaise continued to laugh. Even Granger was smiling, albeit rather reluctantly. Harry chuckled as he combed his fingers lightly through Draco's hair.

"She so does!" Draco wheezed, trying to draw breath through his drunken laughter.

"Way bigger one than his, anyway," she gestured to Draco. "His is tiny and sad and frightened of the entire world. It's like a scared little turtle unwilling to peek its head out of its shell."

"It's only frightened of you, darling," Draco returned, deciding he really liked the feel of lying half-sprawled over Harry's lap while Harry stroked his hair.

"Frightened of anything with a fanny," Blaise grinned, and Draco kicked at him lazily.

"Only because they remind me so much of your face," he said smugly, certain he had won that round. Above him, Harry snorted.

Blaise gaped in mock-outrage. "_You're _the one with a vagina-face, you giant knobby twat," he slurred, eyes bloodshot as he swayed unevenly.

"Yes, my knob is giant," Draco said, his smugness increasing to astronomical proportions. "Obscenely enormous, to be honest. Feel free to wallow in envy and overwhelming intimidation."

"God, Harry, you weren't kidding when you said they mostly talk about fannies and knobs," Weasley said in disbelief. "You lot do realize that there's more in this world to discuss other than people's bits, don't you?"

The three Slytherins stared at him. "What a boring world you must live in, Weasley," Pansy finally said. "God, you lot don't drink, you don't call each other cunt-faced ballsacks or penis-breathed arseheads, you don't threaten to Vanish each other's body parts…what exactly do you do with your time? How do you really know you're friends with someone if you can't speak that way to them and still have them love you and want to be around you?"

Blaise burst out laughing. "Penis-breathed arsehead, now that is a new one, Pans, five points for creativity."

"What's an arsehead?" Granger wondered drunkenly, and the other five laughed at her look of confusion.

"It's exactly what it sounds like, Granger," Pansy waved her hand in explanation. "A head that looks like an arse. Or is an arse. So…a double-arsed person. Only, their second arse is on their head. Or it is their head. Or maybe their head is stuck up their own arse. Their arse could even be stuck on their head, who knows, there are so many options for interpretation, really."

"I bet Potter would like Draco to be double-arsed," Blaise sniggered.

Harry smirked. "Only if his second arse is as fit as his first one."

Draco laughed into Potter's thigh, swatting at the brunet. "Don't encourage him, Potter."

"What would Potter do with the second arse, though?" Pansy wondered. "I mean, Draco would have two arses, but Potter would still only have one cock."

"Stop right now!" Draco ordered, sitting up as best he could to glare at the two Slytherins. "I expressly forbid you to continue your crass and disturbing conversation!"

"Yes, please, for the love of God," Weasley agreed, looking paler than usual, "listen to Malfoy."

"Well, look at that, Pansy," Blaise said happily, "we were finally able to help these two find common ground!"

"Thank god we're around," she nodded. "What would people do without us?"

"Be less traumatized," Draco muttered.

"Never have I ever wanted to be fucked by Harry Potter," Blaise said loudly, and Draco grimaced as his hand automatically reached for his glass. Harry grinned at him, eyes sparkling, but raised an eyebrow as Pansy also took a shot.

"What?" she slurred, gesturing to Harry. "He's fucking fit."

"Back off, slag," Draco growled, scooting closer into Harry's side, who happily wrapped an arm around him.

"Oh, like I'd ever try to seduce a bent bloke," she argued, spilling vodka everywhere as she tried to pour another shot into her glass and missed.

"You spent all those years trying to get into Draco's pants," Blaise pointed out.

"Yes, but I was victorious," Pansy shrugged. "I have a feeling that Potter would be far less accommodating. Plus, you know what a whore Draco is for any sort of attention, he loved it."

"I simply found you amusing, is all," Draco sniffed.

"Well, now you've asked for it," Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Granger, do it."

"Erm, do what?" Granger sounded as confused as everybody else appeared.

"You know," Pansy waved her hand impatiently, "that tusks thing. Give the prat some bloody tusks."

"Bloody tusks?" Blaise stared. "Which sort of bloody do you mean? Like actual blood on his tusks kind of bloody? Because that might be a bit more terrifying than amusing, Pans."

"I'm not going to give anybody tusks," Granger rolled her eyes in an uncharacteristic move that Draco had never witnessed in the girl; he wondered if they were already rubbing off on her.

"But we're bosom friends now!" Pansy argued. "As the only two people in the room with bosoms, we have no choice but to be friends and have each other's backs and curse others with walrus tusks upon demand! Things like that are the exact reason why people call it bosom friends! Isn't it?" Her nose scrunched up in thought. "I have no idea, but the point is that bosom is in the term and in our DNA. It's in our souls, Granger! It's who we are as human beings!"

"Er, are you saying that you define yourself by your tits?" Weasley asked in disbelief.

"We already told you, Pansy," Draco sighed pityingly, "you don't have good enough tits to brag about, and definitely not good enough to define yourself by."

Pansy narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Never have I ever gotten an erection in the middle of class."

Draco glared as he had no choice but to throw back his half-shot Blaise had poured for him. On Harry's other side, Weasley took a shot as well, trying to be as inconspicuous about it as possible.

"Oooh," Pansy cackled, "do tell which class, Weasley."

The redhead flushed nearly the color of his hair, mumbling something beneath his breath.

"Sorry, Weasley, what was that? Didn't quite hear you."

"It was Divination, all right?" Weasley snapped, glaring around the circle. "That stupid room was way too easy to fall asleep in! It was always so dark and she kept it way too warm and she liked to spend a bloody hour talking about things nobody cared about!"

"So you fell asleep and had sexy dreams and woke up with a hard-on?" Pansy smirked, and everyone snickered; even Granger was having to stifle a laugh.

"Hey," Weasley defended, flushing darker, "you have no idea how terrifying it is to wake up from a dream like that to find Trelawney leaning over you! For a second I thought I was about to get fucked by a giant praying mantis!"

"You know that a female praying mantis sometimes eats the male's head right after they're finished shagging, don't you?" Pansy said slyly, and Weasley paled.

"Oh god, that makes it worse!" he shook his head as though trying to clear away the unwanted thoughts.

"Sometimes she eats his head _while_ they're shagging," Pansy continued with a smirk. "Imagine having your head bitten off mid-shag."

Weasley recoiled, throwing back half a shot and grimacing as he shook his head fiercely.

"Stop traumatizing the poor Gryffindor," Blaise chided in amusement.

"But they're so sweet and innocent and easily traumatized," Pansy argued.

"Yes, darling, I know," Blaise agreed, "but they are our guests."

"We can fucking hear you," Weasley grumbled, and Harry snorted.

"But they do seem to have adequate hearing, so that's a point in their favor, I suppose," Blaise allowed, and Harry snorted again.

"Just pour another shot, Zabini," Weasley shook his head, and Blaise grinned.

* * *

"You lot are sorta fucking funny, you know?" Weasley said sometime later, swaying in his seated position as he squinted at the three Slytherins. "I never knew you could be funny. When'd you start being funny? You've never been funny before."

"Nope," Pansy disagreed loudly, cheeks red from the alcohol. "That is where you are dead wrong, Ronald Walsley. We have _always_ been fucking _hilarious_."

"Walsley?" Weasley's nose scrunched up. "You realize that's not, like, my actual name, yeah?"

"Weabsey," Pansy waved casually. "Whatever. Your name is sorta hard t'say while drunk. Have you ever tried to say your own name whilsht drunk?"

"Of course," Weasley rolled his eyes, "it's easy. Weabsley." He frowned. "Wealsey. Fuck! Now you've gotten me to fuck up my own last name!"

Blaise laughed, catching himself as he fell over. "You're sorta entertaining, Weasley, you know that?"

"Ron, you are drunk," Granger decided, cheeks pink as she hiccoughed. "We should prob'ly go."

"You're drunk too!" Weasley argued, collapsing onto his back on the floor. "And I'm a bit legless at the moment, if you hadn't noticed. These funny prats tricked me into getting too bloody pissed."

"We're diabolical like that!" Blaise beamed, nodding.

Granger rolled her eyes. "We still need to go to our own beds."

"Just sleep here," Pansy suggested, and Draco gave her a Look. This wasn't her room, what was she doing inviting people to spend the night? "I'm sleeping here."

"What?" Blaise also gave her a Look. "Since when? This isn't your room, woman."

"Deal with it," she slurred, shoving at Blaise. "I can't deal with a dorm full of those seventh-year bitches I have to share with when I'm this pissed, I absolutely refuse. Also, I get your bed. You can Transfigure something to sleep on on the floor."

"You get nothing," Blaise said firmly. "That is _my_ bed!"

Pansy grinned. "I'll arm wrestle you for it."

Blaise raised a clumsy eyebrow at her. "You do realize I'm stronger, don't you? Are you trying to humiliate yourself in front of all these witnesses?"

Pansy's grin sharpened. "It's only humiliating for the one who loses."

"Fine," Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You're on, flamingo-face." Turning himself around, they both settled on their stomachs into a comfortable position and placed one elbow on the floor, grasping hands and glaring at one another with razor-sharp smiles on their faces. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Weasley sit up and watch with obvious interest.

"One, two, three, go," Draco counted down lazily, shaking his head in amusement as both Slytherins immediately flexed their biceps, their expressions tightening as they did their best to not only win but most likely injure the other, Draco was sure.

Blaise grunted, breathing harder as Pansy's hand twitched and he lost an inch. "Fuck!" he swore, swearing even louder as he lost another inch. "Fuck, Pansy, stop it! Stop winning! Fuck, just fucking lose! Be weak like the other flamingos, goddamnit! You're a weak species so fucking stop being such a fucking anomaly already!"

Pansy huffed a laugh, the muscles in her upper arm flexing harder as she pushed at the hand clasped tightly in her own, crowing in victory as she finally succeeded in slamming Blaise's hand to the floor. "Ha!" she cried, sitting up and shaking out her own hand. "Suck it, Blaise, you weak little thing! In your fucking face! Enjoy the floor, you sucker! Let this be a lesson to you to never challenge me in anything!"

"Whoa, Parkinson," Weasley said, sounding impressed. "Maybe you really do have a cock."

Draco laughed as Pansy turned a glare onto the redhead. "Why?" she demanded. "Because only a man is strong enough to defeat another man? Is that what you're saying? You don't think any woman is capable of beating a bloke in any sort of physical competition?"

"Um…no, that's not what I'm saying?" Weasley said helplessly, turning to Granger for assistance but was met with an unimpressed look.

"She's right, you know," she said with a frown. "Let this be a lesson to all of you."

"Thank you, Granger!" Pansy nodded. "I knew we were bosom friends! Friends with bosoms! These bosom-less twats don't know what they're talking about."

Blaise scoffed as Weasley mouthed "Bosom-less twats?" to Potter.

"Besides," Pansy continued, "there is an actual technique to arm wrestling, you realize. It's not just a simple matter of brute strength, as you lot seem to assume it is. Goyle taught me. He used to try and settle every single disagreement in his life with arm wrestling. Do you two really not remember that?"

"I remember always refusing to touch him," Blaise said thoughtfully, thinking back.

"Hence why you never learned, then," Pansy shrugged. "But the point is, you lost, and I get the bed. Be sure to Transfigure yourself something comfortable, Blaise. Now come along, Granger," she said, climbing unsteadily to her feet and waiting for the other girl, "the bathroom is next door and since we're such bosomy friends, I already know how much you need a wee."

"Er, all right," Granger said uncertainly, following behind Pansy on wobbly legs.

"Christ, me too," Blaise sighed. "Fuck, but I hate standing right now. Standing is stupid. And walking is even stupider. And bladders are the stupidest."

"Let's just hurry and then we can pass out," Draco mumbled, trying to push himself to his feet only to fall onto his forearms. Potter chuckled and stood up with a determined look on his face, making Draco laugh before he reached down to pull the blond to his stumbling feet. The four of them tripped their way from the room, each of them using the toilet and taking a few moments to splash cold water on their red faces before tripping their way back to the dorm to find Granger and Pansy with their wands out. Two large mattresses now took up the center of the room, and the boys stepped around them as carefully as they could.

"We really sleeping here, then?" Weasley asked, tilting his head as he considered the bed.

Granger sighed. "I really don't want to walk all the way up to the seventh floor. Do you?"

"Ugh, fuck no," Weasley shook his head fiercely before clutching at it with a groan.

"So trusting of you," Blaise grinned his special evil grin, one that Granger and Weasley looked slightly uneasy at, but Potter only snorted.

"You two will be fine," he assured them. "They're like kittens or sea turtles or something, completely harmless."

"Sea turtles?" Blaise repeated in disbelief. "I don't even know how to take that, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I could've called you a squirrel or a baby pony."

"Aren't all ponies technically babies?" Pansy wondered, settling herself onto Blaise's bed, and it was then that Draco noticed she had changed into one of Draco's long sleepshirts that he kept in his trunk. _Looting bint_, he thought to himself, knowing there was a large part of himself that liked how comfortable his friends were with taking such liberties with him.

"So, Potter," Blaise said, and Draco glanced over to find that Blaise had stripped down to his pants and was halfway through pulling on a pair of pyjamas. Lord, did none of his friends have any shame? Looking over, Draco was amused to see that Granger was turned pointedly in the opposite direction, cheeks red. "Are you going to be joining me on the floor? There's plenty of room on the mattress, you know."

"Oh, sod off!" Draco snapped. "He will not be sleeping in your bed, he'll be sleeping in mine!"

"Like I'd sleep anywhere else," Harry rolled his eyes affectionately.

"Don't mind Blaise, Potter," Pansy waved one hand sleepily, "he's just a lonely randy sea turtle. Do get in bed, though, so we can turn the lights out already."

Granger and Weasley settled onto their mattress, both casting a final suspicious look around the room before giving in to exhaustion, and Draco could see Harry shake his head in amusement. Reaching down to grasp his hand, Draco pulled Harry over to his bed, tugging two pairs of pyjama bottoms out of his trunk and tossing one pair to Potter, who grinned before beginning to strip, glancing carefully around at the others first to make sure nobody was watching. Climbing into bed, Draco drew the thick curtains, heart suddenly pounding fiercely in his chest—Merlin, he had never shared a bed with anyone before, other than the thirty whole seconds he and Potter had lain together on the stiff mattress the brunet had Transfigured after their first time in the abandoned room in the farthest corner of the dungeons. But that could hardly even count, could it?

"What are you thinking?" Potter whispered, reaching out to slide one hand down Draco's bare arm, and Draco felt gooseflesh erupt across his skin at the touch.

Fumbling for his wand, Draco cast several privacy spells—wincing as they flashed various colors—followed by a lighting spell that cast a dim violet glow above them. In the low lighting, Draco could just make out Harry's expression, the other boy appearing different without his glasses in a way that Draco couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I'm thinking about how strange it is to have three Gryffindors spending the night in my dorm room," Draco admitted, running the backs of his fingers over Potter's warm chest.

Harry grinned. "God, I can't believe we all actually spent an entire evening together and not a single hex was thrown."

"Your disbelief is my disbelief," Draco agreed.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. "Thank you for letting them stay here and inviting them to hang out with you lot and…I dunno, not insulting them for anything."

"It wasn't technically me, you know," Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Blaise was the one who invited them, and Pansy was the one who suggested they sleep here."

"Yes, but they did that for _you_," Harry said quietly. "And you did it for me. And you have no idea how much I appreciate that, Draco. It—it really means a lot to me, that you all get along."

Draco huffed, trying to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach caused by Potter's words. "Am I meant to say something cliched here, about how your friends are my friends because I care for you so much?"

Harry chuckled. "If you like. I definitely won't stop you if that's what you want to say."

Draco took a deep breath. "I can say that I'll try," he said cautiously. "I can't promise we won't ever fight and I certainly can't promise that Weasley and I will ever like one another, but…" he hesitated, wondering if he had the courage to finish his statement.

"But what?" Harry prodded, a tinge of hopeful desperation to the two words.

"But…I'll try. For you. Because—because I really do…you know…" Draco grimaced and allowed his words to trail off.

"You really do what?" Potter nudged him. "You really do what, Draco?"

"I really do care for you, you prat!" he grumbled, turning onto his back to glare up at the dark canopy stretched above them.

Harry said nothing, and Draco glanced over to find a small smile lighting up the other boy's face. Without a word, he rolled on top of Draco and smiled down at him for several moments before capturing his mouth in a kiss.

"Mm, Potter," Draco tried to complain, voice muffled by Potter's lips.

"I want you so much, Draco," the brunet whispered, kissing his chin with a soft groan. "You cast all those spells, the others can't hear us. And you can't expect me to lie next to you in the same bed all night and not touch you."

"But…" Draco's complaint died on his lips as a warm hand ran down his side and dipped beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, snapping them against his skin with an unexpectedly loud sound. "Oh, fuck," he breathed.

"You have no idea, Draco," Harry panted, grinding his cock against Draco's through the thin layers of fabric separating them, "how hard it is sometimes not to just grab you and pin you against the nearest surface. I've been waiting all night for the chance to really touch you."

Draco hummed, surrendering himself to the warmth of Potter's hands. "Then _touch_ me already, Potter, for fuck's sake!"

Harry chuckled. "Is it weird that I sort of like it when you get all demanding?"

"Of course not," Draco said immediately, "because my demands are all reasonable and intelligent ones. So hop to, Potter, I don't have all night."

"Patience, you git," Harry said in obvious amusement.

"Is something you should know I've never had."

"Then it's past time you learned, isn't it?" Potter asked archly, kissing Draco's response away right before grinding down hard against him. Draco moaned, much louder than he had meant to, especially considering the fact that he had never actually meant to moan at all. Malfoy men did not _moan_, even when certain sexy blokes with black hair had pressed their hand flat against Draco's magnificent erection—his proud manly Malfoy erection—and began to rub their palm against the bulge.

"Harry," Draco whined, ignoring the fact that Malfoy men also did not whine.

"You're right," Potter nodded, "fuck the patience lessons, those will have to wait for another day." And without another word, Potter tugged down their clothing and began to grind his lower body against Draco's, who threw his head back with a gasp.

"Oh!" he uttered helplessly, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of Potter's hard cock rubbing against his own.

Beside him, Potter fumbled for his wand, casting a spell that Draco was almost convinced was somehow mandatory for every boy to learn by the age of twelve, grinning in approval at the sudden wet slick of lube coating their cocks as Harry continued to move, every thrust now much smoother.

"You are so fucking hot, Draco," he said in a low voice. "God, I love the way you look. And I don't think I'll ever get over the way you feel."

Draco cried out wordlessly as Harry thrust down harder and moved faster, gripping Harry's hips in response and trying to pull him closer against himself. "Fuck, Harry!" he gasped, sparing a second to pray that his silencing charms were still in effect. "Harder!"

Potter bit down on the muscle between Draco's neck and shoulder as he ground down even harder, practically flattening Draco into the mattress, but Draco was fine being Potter's pancake if that's what the man wanted him to be.

"I can't believe I'm actually in your bed," Potter groaned. "I never thought I would ever end up here."

"Thought about being in my bed often, have you? "Draco asked breathlessly, pressing up into Potter and circling his hips.

"Only every single day since term started," Harry panted. "Christ, I thought you were attractive before, but seeing you that very first day of school…fuck, I thought my heart was about to stop."

Draco couldn't help but smile. "Did it make you hard, Potter?" he whispered, encouraged by the alcohol he could still feel thrumming through his veins. "Did you think of me and touch yourself? Did you imagine what it would be like to fuck me? Did you lay in your bed and think of me naked?"

"Oh, _fuck_," Potter moaned, his movements becoming frenzied. "Yes, Draco! Yes to all of that!"

"Good," Draco growled, raising himself up enough to seal his mouth over Harry's and kiss him as best he could whilst Potter was still thrusting wildly against him. A moment later and Harry's entire body stiffened, his movements becoming small and jerky as he clutched tightly at Draco, and Draco felt a splash of warmth spreading between them. Without breaking the kiss, he reached out to pry one of Potter's grasping hands off his waist, tugging it down between his legs and encouraging him to wrap his fingers around Draco's stiff cock.

Mercifully, Potter complied without hesitation, releasing a soft breathy noise of pleasure as he began to stroke Draco, swift and hard without being too tight, and Draco spread his legs wider in approval, arching up as he came all over Harry's hand.

"Mmm," he groaned quietly into Potter's mouth, trailing a tickling path down Potter's back with his fingertips. "That was good, Potter." Harry smiled in agreement and settled down next to him, eyes snapping open as Draco continued speaking. "But clean us up now and pull your pyjamas up properly, hmm?"

"What?" he stared. "Why can't you clean us up yourself?"

"Because I'm tired," Draco faked a wide yawn just to prove his point. "Do be a dear, Harry darling." He grinned to himself as Potter reached for his wand, grumbling as he cast cleaning charms over the both of them.

"Now the pyjamas," Draco reminded him. "Trust me. If Blaise wakes before us, the first thing he's going to do is open these curtains. If he sees them closed, he won't be able to resist opening them, not if there's even the slightest chance of finding us in a compromising position."

"He really is way too obsessed with our sex life," Harry complained as he tugged first his then Draco's pyjamas back into place. "Especially yours. I don't like how much he talks about you getting sucked off and sucking other people off. He talks about your cock way too much. _And _he's kissed you! And sleeps like ten centimeters away from you every night!"

Draco chuckled as he pulled the blankets up around them and burrowed into the warmth of Harry's side. "Your jealousy has been duly noted, Potter."

"I'm not jealous!"

Draco laughed louder. "No, clearly not," he said, sounding amused. "But Blaise talks that way with everyone, trust me. You only notice when he speaks that way to me because you're a possessive lunatic."

"I am not—" Harry began in outrage, but Draco cut him off.

"You are, but it's oddly attractive," he grinned. "Who knew jealousy could be a turn on?" Harry huffed and looked away. "I mean it, Potter," Draco continued in a softer voice, pressing a kiss to Harry's chest. "I really like how much you want me all to yourself. But you should know that stupid Blaise really is just joking. He's just stupid, Potter, ignore him. He was born stupid and sadly, they have yet to find a cure for such severe stupidity, so he'll most likely die stupid as well. But his mother and I have every hope that one day, a miracle will occur and he'll wake up suddenly less stupid than he was when he fell asleep."

"I just…don't get why your friends are so okay with us," Harry said uncomfortably. "If I'm honest, I was expecting it to be the other way 'round, where my friends were the ones inviting you to spend time with them and your friends were the ones wishing death on me."

Draco stilled, feeling a hot swoop of guilt sear through him. He couldn't tell Potter the real reasons why Pansy and Blaise had been so okay with the two boys being together from the very beginning; he couldn't confess to Harry that it was them who had pushed him to first seek out the Gryffindor for less-than-moral purposes. He couldn't ever tell Harry just how manipulative and self-interested the three Slytherins really were, despite the fact that they really all genuinely did like Potter; even Weasley had become less of a wank-stain than usual as the night had gone on.

But that might have been the vodka making him so tolerable, Draco allowed.

"Well, it's not really the same thing, is it?" he mumbled into Harry's chest. "Of course your friends disapprove of us, I had never expected anything different. And Pansy and Blaise have nothing to lose and everything to gain from your friendship."

"So you're saying they only tolerate me for my name?" Harry asked quietly, body suddenly stiff as a board.

"No," Draco shook his head, "they really do genuinely like you, Potter. They wouldn't make fun of you so much if they didn't."

"They make fun of everyone, Draco," Harry said, and Draco could practically hear the eye roll in his every word. "There's not a single person or thing in this world that they don't take the piss out of."

"Yes, but with you, they take the piss _lovingly_," Draco corrected. "Trust me, Pansy does not smile at people that she does not like. And Blaise would never have included you in our points system unless he really did consider you to be a member of our group. He takes private jokes very seriously, you should know."

"So…" Harry began, sounding pleased, "you're saying I'm one of the Slytherins now?"

"If that makes you happy," Draco chuckled, amazed to hear Harry say such a thing in such a tone of voice. Did he really want to be a part of Draco's group of friends?

"Why wouldn't it?" Harry responded, hugging Draco tightly to himself. "It's the most exclusive club in all of Hogwarts."

Draco couldn't help but grin. "And don't you fucking forget it."

* * *

Draco woke to sunlight stabbing him in the eyes. "Blaise, you fucker, shut the fucking curtains!" he groaned, burying his face in his pillow as he tugged the blankets up more securely around Harry and himself.

"They're not even wanking each other, Pans," Blaise sighed dejectedly. "No good blackmail material today, I'm afraid. Although they don't appear to be dressed, so that's something, at least."

"We have pyjama bottoms on, you git!" Draco snapped, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. "Why the fuck are you so goddamn chipper, you evil soulless wank-faced spawn of Satan?"

Blaise responded by pulling the curtains open even wider. "You must be hungover to be throwing out such redundant insults," he drawled. "An evil soulless spawn of Satan? Wouldn't the offspring of Satan by his very definition be both evil _and_ soulless?"

"You're extra soulless," Harry mumbled sleepily. "Congrats, Satan Jr, you out-evil your father."

Blaise snorted. "If only I knew my father and could argue the statement."

"Yes, but we all know your mum, so you can't," Draco muttered.

"Just for that I shan't cure your wretched hangovers," Blaise sniffed. "Enjoy your suffering, you twats."

"Harry?" a voice grumbled from somewhere on the floor. "What's going on? Why is everyone talking? Ugh, I feel horrible. Fuck, I wish I was dead." Weasley slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, squinting around for Potter, and Draco could see the exact moment he spotted the brunet lying shirtless next to Draco on his bed. His freckled face turned green as his entire body stiffened. "Yep," he said weakly, "I definitely wish I was dead."

"A very real possibility if you insist on speaking so much," Draco replied.

"Ugh," Weasley winced, clutching his stomach, "I am way too sick to deal with your voice right now, Malfoy. We can trade death threats after I start feeling like a normal human again."

Blaise laughed. "You Gryffindors are adorable. Pansy? Their antidotes, please."

"Oh, thank god," Weasley groaned. "Hangover Potion?"

Pansy sniggered. "In a way, Weasley, yes. The only real hangover potion you need." Strolling up to them with a smile, Draco sat up enough to see that she carried a group of shot glasses balanced on a large textbook in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. At the sight, Weasley clutched his stomach even tighter as Draco's own stomach roiled in disgust.

"Come on now," Blaise said cheerfully, "I promise you this is the only real way to cure a hangover. Fuck whatever people tell you about hangover potions, they usually only tend to make you feel even more ill."

Pansy sighed. "That's because everybody takes them wrong. They're meant to be taken _before _you start drinking, not the next morning. They're meant to be preemptive cures."

"Yes, but most people are fools," Blaise reminded her.

"So," she turned to the others, "this is our cure. Trust me, you really will start feeling better after a shot."

A sudden groan caught their attention as a mass of curly brown hair sat up, blinking around at them blearily. Granger resembled some sort of fuzzy half-drugged lion, and the sight made Draco snicker to himself.

"Good morning, Granger," Pansy sang, kneeling down and setting the book on the floor before beginning to pour shots out for everyone, flicking her wand to summon the nearby jug of pumpkin juice. "Time to take your medicine, love."

"Medicine?" Granger repeated groggily. "What? What time is it?"

"Time for you lazy slugs to stop asking questions and just take the damn shot," Blaise grinned. "Pans and I have already downed ours like the good children we are, and now it's your turn."

"Urgh, fuck off with that shit, Zabini," Harry complained. "I am not drinking any more today!"

"Me neither," Weasley said as firmly as he was able to. "That stuff'll only make me sicker."

"Yes," Blaise drawled, "so says the people who are dealing with their very first hangover. If either of you had been charming enough to warrant an invitation to any of the Hufflepuff parties, you would know that this is not a joke we're playing on you, it really is our way of helping."

"He's right, Potter," Draco sighed, pushing himself to his feet and digging around in his trunk for a pyjama shirt. "I know it sounds horrid now, but it really will make you feel better, strange as that seems."

"Unless it just makes me be violently ill everywhere," Harry argued, sitting up and blinking rapidly at the bright sunlight pouring into the room.

Blaise shrugged. "And that by itself is often a help. So whatever you choose to do, hold it down or sick it up, it will help, Potter. For Christ's sake, trust your best friends already!"

At the final statement, Weasley muttered something beneath his breath, something that all three Slytherins ignored. Sighing again, Draco dropped to the floor next to Pansy and picked up a shot glass, glaring at it for a moment.

"Cheers, sir," Blaise said solemnly, picking up his own shot glass and clinking it with Draco's.

"Bottom's up, darling," Pansy smirked, tapping her own glass against Draco's with a sharp sound before throwing it back.

Grimacing, Draco held his breath and swallowed the vodka as quickly as he could, his stomach instantly fighting to expel the foul-tasting liquid. He tried to toss it to the back of his throat as fast as possible, unwilling to allow it to remain on his tongue any longer than it had to, but he still spluttered and coughed as it burned its way down his throat. Pansy pressed a second shot glass into his hands, this one full of pumpkin juice, and he gratefully downed that as well, shuddering as the sharp taste of liquid fire began to fade.

"Feeling healed yet?" Weasley drawled sarcastically, and Draco glared at him as best he could through watery eyes.

"Does it really help?" Harry asked skeptically, eyeing Draco in disbelief.

"You think we're drinking through a hangover for the fun of it?" Blaise asked, raising one eyebrow. "Hair of the dog, Potter, hair of the fucking dog. Helpful advice, not just pretty words."

"Fine," Harry sighed, "pass us one already then."

With a grin, Blaise passed two shot glasses to Potter, one full of vodka and the other full of juice, grin widening as Potter threw the liquids back one at a time, face twisting in disgust.

"Good show, old bean," Blaise nodded cheerfully.

"Fucking nasty," Harry shuddered. "Why are you lot trying to poison me so much?"

Blaise laid one hand over his heart in a gesture of sincerity. "It's all out of love, I assure you."

"You'll start feeling better in a minute," Draco promised.

"Well I, for one," Pansy said, pouring another shot out for herself and downing it in a single swallow without so much as a grimace, "am fine with having a boozy Saturday."

"You would be," Blaise smiled fondly at her, "you wild little legend, you. Pansy here can drink us all under the table without breaking a sweat."

"Undefeated champion of champions," she smirked. "And don't you boys ever fucking forget it."

"You lot are insane," Weasley decided, frowning as Draco gestured for Pansy to pour the blond another shot as well. "Is this every fucking Saturday for you?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow in amusement. "We hardly ever drink, you know. I think you're getting a rather skewed view of us based off this one weekend. This is the first time we've touched a single bottle all term." He turned to grin at Pansy, waving his hand toward the shot glasses and smiling wider as she automatically poured him the same amount as Draco. "Boozy Saturday it is, my darling flamingo."

She frowned. "Care to try that again?"

"Oh, sorry," Blaise apologized, lips twitching, "Legendary flamingo. Is that better? Darling flamingo of unmatched legend?"

"Your titular diction definitely needs work," Pansy shook her head, smiling reluctantly.

Blaise grinned. "I'm certain there's a joke somewhere in that statement about tits and dicks, if anyone would care to help me out."

Pansy snorted loudly. "I think I just figured out the title of your autobiography. Tits and Dicks: The Life and Lies of Blaise Zabini."

Draco laughed. "Good title for his headstone as well."

"I'm confused," Harry interrupted, "are you saying he likes both tits and dicks? Or are you saying that he's both a tit _and_ a dick?"

"Both," Pansy and Draco said together, sharing a snigger.

"He's a dickish tit, Potter, you should know this by now," Pansy said lightly.

"I don't like dicks, for fuck's sake," Blaise sighed in obvious exasperation. "Liking dicks is Draco's new thing, you lot know that. And what kind of friend would I be if I just stole his new thing right out from under him? You're welcome, Draco, for allowing you to keep the one thing that makes you interesting. The only dicks I like having in my life are Draco and Pansy."

"I don't know whether to be offended or flattered," Pansy drawled.

"Flattered, obviously," Blaise responded. "Oh, and you as well, I suppose, Weasley."

"What?" Weasley asked, head snapping in Blaise's direction.

"Well, you are definitely a bit of a dick," Blaise pointed out, and Draco coughed a laugh into his hand. "But you're all right enough when you aren't, you know, being a _total_ dick. I knew we could break through that dickish exterior to get at your gooey little non-dickish interior. And we did! You even told us how funny you think we are and how much you were enjoying our bonding time together! Congratulations on becoming less of a dick. Now you're a dick we're more or less okay being around."

Weasley stared at him for nearly a full minute. "Right," he said finally. "Um, okay then. I'm going to choose to not be offended by that, mostly based on the fact that I am too hungover to get into an argument. But that was just way too many uses of the word 'dick'." Pausing, he turned to face Potter. "Harry, do they always talk about dicks this much?"

"There are always other body parts we could discuss, Weasley," Pansy smirked.

"Stop it with the body parts," Granger's voice sounded, and they all glanced toward her in surprise, all seeming to have forgotten she was there. She was sat upright on her Transfigured mattress, attempting to pull her mass of wild curls into some sort of messy bun atop her head. Draco couldn't help but watch in fascination, wondering who would win between hair and girl. He had always wondered whether her hair could eat through bone; how was she brave enough to actually stick her hand in that bloody mane?

"We _could_ stop talking about body parts," Pansy responded, still smirking, "but in the end, Granger, all we really have are our body parts. They're the only things we come into this world with and the last things we own before departing it. The least we could do is give them some sort of acknowledgment."

"I don't think calling each other penises is really acknowledging the human body," Granger said wryly, and the three Slytherins stared at one another for a moment in surprise before laughing wildly.

"Oh, Granger," Pansy chortled, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye, "please say 'penis' again. That was an absolutely fantastic moment for all of us."

"But this time," Blaise guffawed, "say it with more feeling, like you really mean it."

"And people say _we_ have filthy mouths," Draco snickered. "Is that the sort of dirty talk you save for the bedroom, Granger?"

"Ugh, what are we still doing here?" Weasley grumbled, but Draco thought his lips might have possibly twitched just slightly.

"If you have other appointments, by all means, there's the door," Blaise said, sweeping one arm graciously in the direction of the doorway. "Or you can stay. We don't make these sorts of decisions for other people."

"Hermione?" Weasley climbed unsteadily to his feet and looked down at her, holding out one hand to help her up. She stood with only a slight sway, leaning heavily into Weasley's side.

"We should go," she decided.

"Can we just hear a quick 'penis' before you go?" Pansy asked hopefully, and Granger tried to give the other girl her best Head Girl look, although the expression was rather ruined by her puffy bloodshot eyes.

"Harry?" she yawned. "Are you coming with us?"

Everyone turned to look at Potter, still sitting up in Draco's bed with no shirt on, and Draco allowed himself a second to be amazed at how comfortable Harry seemed in Draco's dorm room, amongst Draco's closest—all right, _only_—friends.

His eyes flicked to Draco. "I think I'll hang here for a bit. I'll be up later."

Unable to stop himself, Draco smiled at the brunet.

"Are you going to drink more?" Granger asked in a flat voice.

"Boozy Saturday, Granger, get with it," Pansy said impatiently. "There's nothing wrong with having a good time every now and then."

"We promise not to corrupt his youthful innocence," Blaise vowed before cracking an evil grin. "You know, any more than absolutely necessary."

"Besides," Draco added, "the alcohol was the only reason you two even came here last night." Granger instantly began to open her mouth, no doubt to spew some long-winded and furious tirade, but Draco continued speaking before she could, "I mean, not you, of course, Granger, since you really are as strait-fucking-laced as they come. But Weasley, definitely. It sure as hell wasn't because he wanted our company."

"Eh," Weasley shrugged, "he's pretty spot-on with that one, actually."

"But now we're all best friends," Blaise beamed, and Draco and Pansy both rolled their eyes. "Last night was about bonding, Granger, which you can't say we didn't do. It just so happens that bonding can be a hell of a lot easier with firewhisky easing the way."

The two Gryffindors stared at him in silence for several moments before Weasley sighed loudly. "Fine, gimme a fucking shot then before I go."

"Ron!" Granger hissed, eyes narrowing as Pansy let out a cheer.

"I just want to see if it really will make me feel better," he said with a shrug.

"And that's how we do it in the Slytherin dorms," she said happily, pouring him out a shot and handing it to him along with a second shot glass full of juice. Weasley stared at the clear liquid for a long moment with a grimace before tossing it back without warning, shuddering as he quickly downed the pumpkin juice in his other hand. "Are you sure I can't tempt you, Granger? Not even a small one?" Pansy asked coyly, mouth curled in a flirtatious smile. Granger looked downright terrified at the sight, and Draco couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry, Granger," he grinned at Pansy, "she's harmless. You're a bit too lacking in certain areas for her."

"Which means your cock isn't nearly massive enough for the girl," Blaise drawled in amusement.

Granger spluttered at the statement. "What—? I haven't got a—"

"Oh, please say 'penis'," Pansy said hopefully. "I just need to hear the word one more time from you, Granger, don't be selfish."

"I am not going to say 'penis'!" Granger snapped, cheeks reddening as the Slytherins howled with laughter.

"I knew I could get it out of her a second time!" Pansy crowed, nearly falling over as she cackled. "Oh god, we should have invited you down here years ago, Granger. You wild little thing, you, throwing such filth like the word 'penis' around so casually."

Granger flushed darker as Weasley opened his mouth to respond angrily, but Potter climbed from Draco's bed and walked over to them before the redhead had a chance to speak.

"They're just joking around, Hermione," he said in a soft voice. "Really. They're not making fun of you."

"No, we are," Pansy disagreed. "We absolutely are. But we make fun of all our friends, darling, and they, in turn, make fun of us. It's all in good fun and all done with affection. Don't you remember what the Sorting Hat told us on our very first night in this castle? You'll make your real friends in Slytherin, lovey."

"It just takes practice to be around them," Potter said dryly, slanting the Slytherins an exasperated look, one tinged with amusement. "You get used to them pretty fast, though."

"I can't wait," Granger deadpanned, and the Slytherins laughed again.

"Neither can we, Granger," Pansy smiled, "neither can we."

Rolling his eyes, Weasley led Granger from the room with nothing more than a farewell nod to Potter, who turned to stare the Slytherins with a bemused expression.

"Draco," Pansy said coyly, eyes running up and down Potter's body, "has your boyfriend realized yet that he's still half-naked?"

At the words, Harry's entire upper body flushed red as he darted over to Draco's side of the room to snatch up his t-shirt from the previous night and tug it over his head hurriedly.

"Shame," Pansy sighed. "I thought he was parading around like that on purpose as a reward for how well-behaved we were with his friends."

"Stop looking at him, for fuck's sake!" said Draco in annoyance. "You don't get to look at him!"

She raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. "I can't just ignore only one of three people in the room, not including myself, Draco. That would be bad manners."

Draco raised an even more sardonic eyebrow back at her. "And molesting him with your eyes isn't?"

"You can't blame eyes for seeing things that are right in front of them, you know," she pointed out, and Draco wanted nothing more than to hex her dumb beak right off her dumb flamingo face—if only she had an actual beak to hex off.

_I suppose I could hex one on first and __then__ hex it back off,_ Draco thought to himself.

"Thank you," Potter cut in unexpectedly, gaze shifting between all three Slytherins. "For last night. For inviting them back here and trying to get along with them. I know that none of you had to do that, especially the two of you," he nodded to Pansy and Blaise, "but…it means a lot that the three of you did. For me. So thank you. Really."

"Oh," Pansy said quietly, lifting a hand to her heart. "God. Draco, is this that Gryffindor sincerity you were saying can be well past overwhelming at times? Because I feel properly overwhelmed at the moment."

"You are our friend, you realize," Blaise offered Harry a smile that was notably lacking in its usual evil slant. "And we do love Draco, no matter what people assume of our friendships with one another being nothing more than creative bullying, or whatever rot the people in this school think of us. We know how much your sidekicks mean to you, Potter."

"Plus, they really weren't as bad as I thought they would be," Pansy said thoughtfully. "Weasley can actually be a right laugh once he stopped being such a prick. We even got Granger to drink with us! I chalk that up to one of the greatest victories of my life, frankly. I'll still be bragging about that to my children in ten years' time."

"I can't believe it either," Potter grinned. "I never thought there would ever come a day when the three of us would come down to the Slytherin dorms to get pissed with you lot."

"Don't forget the slumber party," Blaise added. "I still don't even know how that happened. Pansy is the only other person Draco and I have ever even allowed in here until you came along, Potter, and next thing we know, we've got Gryffindors sleeping all over the damn room."

"What can I say, Zabini," Harry laughed, eyes sparkling, "I'm just a gateway to new experiences." Sinking to the floor, he locked eyes with Draco and patted the empty space next to him before reaching for the bottle of vodka and pouring himself a small shot. "Boozy Saturday it is then, Parkinson," he raised his glass to her before tossing it back.

A wide smile spread across Pansy's face as she poured out half shots for the other three. "You know, Draco, I think I might just love your boyfriend."

Moving forward, Draco sat next to the brunet and reached for a glass. _I think I might just love him too_.

* * *

A/N: Aaand that is the first of the Gryffindor/Slytherin bestest friend bonding experiences! Nothing brings people together as quickly (or tears them apart just as easily) like alcohol! To all of my non-drinking friends out there, I really do promise that you can go from hating a person's guts and wishing death on them to pledging your eternal friendship and undying love all in the span of a single shared bottle of liquor. And I also promise that drinking through a hangover really is the best—and pretty much only real—way to cure a hangover. Haha, a couple shots, some cheap fries/chips, and a cigarette is my best advice for a hangover. Lol, I live in a party house of drinkers. This really is pretty much every weekend for us, minus the drinking games, because we already all know waaay too much about each other, haha.

But anyway, the next chapter will be up soon, and Draco's guilt may just start catching up with him :) Should be fun! Later, lovers!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: In which love is confessed, guilt is intensified, virginity is lost, and Very Serious Emotions are felt.

All right, so this chapter is without a doubt the most dramatic and guilt-ridden of them all so far, so settle in, kids. On the other hand, it is also the most sexually explicit chapter so far, sooo…you know, balance :)

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"I want to try something," Harry whispered, the sound slithering over Draco's flesh like a snake, cool and winding and making him break out in gooseflesh at the feel of his words caressing Draco's bare skin.

"Try what?" he whispered back, whimpering as Harry swirled his tongue around Draco's left nipple. He moved to the other one without responding and Draco groaned even as he grew impatient. "Try what, Potter?"

"Well…" Harry began, sounding both nervous and determined, "I figured, you know, since Blaise was nice enough to fuck off and leave us this nice empty dorm all to ourselves…I was thinking…"

"For fuck's sake, thinking what?" Draco demanded, lifting himself up on his elbows to better see the brunet lying atop him. They were both naked and hard, lying tangled together on Draco's bed after Blaise had kindly allowed the two boys use of the dorm room—after forcing Draco to pay him a Galleon, of course, since the other boy did not believe in expressing kindness without some sort of monetary compensation for his troubles. For the past fortnight, ever since the first time Draco and Harry had shared his bed together during their impromptu slumber party with the Gryffindors, Blaise had been willingly renting out the room to Draco so he and Harry could have some privacy. Draco had brought Potter to the dorm expecting blowjobs or more of that lovely frottage they had been getting more and more proficient at. But what was Potter trying to say? What did he want them to do?

"I really want to fuck you," Harry blurted out in a rush, cheeks reddening but refusing to look away from Draco's eyes. "Like, a lot. Seriously, Draco, like a _lot_."

"Oh," Draco said in quiet surprise, uncertain how to respond. He had never been fucked by anyone, not even with his own fingers. It was going to hurt, wasn't it? Draco didn't want to do anything that caused him pain—he hated pain. Not experiencing pain was most certainly on his Favorite Things Ever List. Why couldn't they just stick to the blowjobs and the lovely frottage? Neither of those hurt, and Draco loved the lovely blowjobs and the lovely frottage, just as much as he loved not being in pain. "I don't know, Harry…" he trailed off, hoping Potter would sense his uncertainty and back down.

But of course, Harry Potter had never backed down from a single thing in his entire life. "I've been doing research, Draco!" he said earnestly, eyes wide and pleading. "I'm not going to just shove it in or anything, I-I've done some research and I know how this works." As he spoke, his cheeks gradually moved through every shade of red imaginable, until they were a deep flaming scarlet. "I memorized all the spells, I promise! And I practiced them all on myself first, so I know I can do them right!" The words made Draco hesitate, torn between options. He could let Potter fuck him; he could willingly trust Harry to take care of Draco's body without injuring him. Or he could say no as kindly as he was able to and suggest a lovely blowjob instead. Surely Harry couldn't be disappointed with a blowjob, could he? It would still consist of him getting off, after all.

"I want this with you, Draco," Harry said softly, moving forward to cup Draco's jaw and coax him into a kiss. "And it's not like anything you decide right this second is set in stone. If you change your mind at any point, just tell me. And if I hurt you in any way, you had _better_ tell me."

Fuck. Why did Harry have to cheat like that? Why did he have to speak in such a soft voice and why did he have to touch Draco so gently and why did he have to look at him in that way—the way that suggested that Draco was the only person in the entire world that Harry looked at? Damn Harry and his damn sweetness and damn kind-hearted consideration. And damn Draco's overwhelming attractiveness that made someone as sweet and kind and considerate as Harry want to fuck him as desperately as Harry obviously wanted to. Damn it.

"…okay then," Draco finally said in a tentative voice.

Harry's eyes widened in amazement, and Draco wondered if the other boy had not been expecting to be granted permission. "Really?" he breathed, the single word barely audible, as though he was being extra careful not to spook Draco by speaking too loudly.

"You really know all the spells we'll need?" Draco asked pointedly. "And you really did practice them on yourself first?"

"Yes," Harry nodded earnestly. "I promise."

"Very well then," Draco sighed. "How do you want me?"

"Like this," Harry whispered, kissing Draco deeply. He kissed Draco for much longer than Draco had been expecting, until the blond had relaxed completely beneath him. Smiling against his mouth, Harry began shifting lower, spreading kisses down his throat and chest, lips fluttering across the very extremely firm muscles of his stomach —because Draco definitely, definitely had muscled abs, damn it. A warm tongue licked along the crease between Draco's thigh and hip, and he released a soft breathy noise at the feel of it. Fuck, Harry was good at that. He shifted his hips impatiently, trying to get Potter to lick his cock already, but the brunet only pressed a kiss to the very tip before moving to the other side to lick along that hipbone as well.

"Be patient," Harry chuckled, gently urging Draco to turn over onto his stomach before leaning away to reach for his wand. He whispered a spell that made certain parts of Draco's body tingle unexpectedly, parts that he was quite sure had never tingled before. "Cleaning charm," Harry explained, his blush just barely visible as Draco tried to peer at him over his shoulder. The blond hummed, unsure why Potter needed a cleaning charm on Draco's sodding arse, unless he was worried about getting his cock dirty. Did he not think Draco had a clean enough arse for the Saviour's fucking cock to go in? Did he—

The sudden feel of a warm, wet tongue sliding across the still-tingling skin made Draco yelp in shock, trying to twist around to demand to know just what the hell Potter thought he was playing at, licking Draco _there_, of all places, but Harry held his hips in place and dipped his tongue even further, lapping tentatively at Draco's tingling arsehole.

Encouraged by the helpless moan torn from Draco's mouth at the feel of Potter's tongue in such an area, Harry gripped two handfuls of Draco's bum and spread him as wide open as he could before trailing the very tip of his tongue around his arsehole, flicking and circling and swirling around it before hesitantly pressing the tip inside.

"Potter," Draco groaned loudly, unable to help the embarrassing sound. "This is highly indecent, you realize." Merlin, when Potter had said he wanted to fuck him, Draco hadn't imagined it would be like _this_; he hadn't ever imagined _this _being done to him. Was this a real thing people did to each other? Christ, he hoped it never stopped; he hoped Potter's tongue could stay there forever.

Right as that thought passed through his mind, Potter pulled away. "I haven't even put my cock in you yet and you think _this _is indecent?

"Harry," he gasped as the brunet wriggled his tongue deeper inside Draco. To Draco's eternal shame, he felt himself pressing back into the feeling, unable to help his movements as he alternated between pressing back and grinding himself against the mattress. "Harry, please, just—just fucking fuck me already!" Christ, how had they managed to switch roles so drastically? Only minutes ago, Harry had been the one pleading to fuck a reluctant Draco, and now Draco was practically _begging_ the brunet to fuck him.

"Fuck, Draco," Harry murmured in a low voice, "I could come just from hearing you say that."

"I'd rather you come from being inside me," Draco grit out through clenched teeth.

Harry groaned and lowered his head to rest against Draco's thigh. "Then don't fucking _say _things like that, Draco, _Jesus_. Not if you don't want me coming before anything actually happens."

Draco whined—somewhat pathetically, he could admit, but that hardly counted since there were no real witnesses around to witness him being pathetic—wriggling in an attempt to get Harry to understand what he was trying to say without using words.

Behind him, he felt one of Harry's hands pin him down as he muttered several spells beneath his breath, startling Draco as he felt several strange sensations zip through him at once. God, his arse felt…odd.

"What did you do to me?" he wondered, twisting his upper body around as best he could.

"Er," Harry blushed, "protection charm, a preparation and stretching spell to, you know, loosen you, and…you know…" his face was nearly on fire from the force of his blush.

"No, Potter, I don't," Draco responded suspiciously.

"You know…" Harry shifted, "a, um…lubrication spell."

"Oh." Draco felt suddenly struck dumb by the fact that it was really going to happen, Draco was really going to have actual penetrative sex; Harry was really going to stick his suddenly enormous-looking cock inside Draco's body and expect Draco to be able to derive any sort of pleasure from the act of being repeatedly stabbed in his insides by a bloody fucking _enormous-looking cock_ . Was it meant to be pleasurable for the person getting their arse penetrated? Or was it only meant to be pleasurable for the person doing the penetrating?

"You can still change your mind, Draco," Harry said quietly, rubbing his hands over the backs of Draco's thighs in comfort. "You don't really seem all that comfortable with it."

"No, I just…" Draco trailed off as he realized that he didn't actually know how to respond. Yes, he wanted to stop. But at the same time, despite his fear, he wanted Harry to fuck him. The contradiction was making his head spin; Draco laid back down on the pillow with a deep breath. "What are you waiting for, Potter? An official letter granting you my permission? Just get on with it; take my virginity already, for Christ's sake."

A chuckle reached his ears before Draco felt a warm weight settle over him. A hand wrapped around the back of Draco's knee and shifted his leg higher. Harry pressed a kiss to the side of Draco's neck as he stretched out fully on top of him, one hand vanishing from Draco's leg as his hips raised slightly, and Draco realized what he was doing a second before Potter began to guide his cock into Draco. Clenching his eyes shut tightly, Draco tried his best to stay relaxed, already having gotten along and humiliating talk from Pansy on what to expect from being on the receiving end of penetrative sex, and one of the things Draco remembered her stressing the most was about him keeping his muscles as relaxed as possible. Tensing up would only make the whole thing more painful and much harder—and not the good kind of harder, either.

But despite trying to keep himself from tensing, Draco couldn't help but squirm and stiffen at the feel of Potter entering him, keeping his movements slow.

"Are you all right, Draco?" Harry gasped, holding his hips far enough away so that only the head of his cock was inside the blond.

"I…yes," Draco answered uncertainly, not sure if he actually was all right or not. He was still alive, at least, if that's what Potter was wondering. "Is that your whole cock then?" he asked hopefully, frowning as Harry chuckled.

"No, and you know it's bloody not. I'm, er…" he hesitated before continuing, "I'm going to keep going. Is that okay?"

"By all means, Potter, do carry on," Draco drawled as casually as he could, which was really not all that casual if he was being honest with himself. "We're all waiting on you here, you realize. You're the one slowing down the proceedings."

"Just tell me if you need me to pull out," Harry said, voice quiet as he began to move forward once more, and Draco could feel every centimeter of his cock being buried deeper and deeper inside Draco's body, forcing Draco to grit his teeth as he wondered how much more cock Harry still had left; any more and Draco was sure he'd be able to taste the other boy's prick in his fucking throat. "Almost, Draco, I promise," Potter whispered, and Draco spared a moment to wonder how the brunet seemed to always know what Draco was thinking.

Finally, after a whole century and an entire kilometer of enormous Gryffindor cock, Harry's hips were pressed up tightly against Draco's skin, and he felt Potter shudder as he released a breathless moan, body trembling as he held himself still. "Fuck, Draco," he panted, "oh _fuck_. Fuck, you feel incredible. Are you okay?"

Draco didn't respond for several moments, still struggling to get used to the feeling of having another man's prick buried in his arse. It felt more odd than painful. There was a razor edge of pain to the oddness, but the stretching spell Harry had cast had seemed to have done the trick because Draco didn't seem to be screaming in agony and threatening to hex Potter's balls off.

"Draco?" a soft voice asked, gentle fingers combing through his hair.

"I'm okay," he whispered. "You can move now, Potter, if you like. I may be new to this, but I'm fairly certain that sex does not consist of sticking your knob in someone and just leaving it there without then doing anything with it."

A warm laugh was huffed over the back of Draco's neck. "God, even when I have my fucking cock inside your fucking body, you're still making demands and being sarcastic."

"Were you expecting me to begin spouting poetry or composing sonnets all about your unmatchable prowess of physical affection?" Draco spared a moment to wonder why his first instinct in every single situation was to hide behind sarcasm. "If you give me just a minute, I'm sure I could come up with some sort of appropriate limerick for the situation. What rhymes with 'buggery'?"

"God," Harry chuckled, "I think I should just give up hope now of you ever losing your bite."

"Oh, you were hoping to be bitten? You should have just asked."

"I'll show you bitten," Harry mock-growled, clamping his teeth around Draco's shoulder as he slowly slid his cock out, paused, and then slid back in. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot he had bitten as he once again slid out slowly, paused for several seconds, and then slid back in. And then, for the third time, the same slow slide and long pause.

"Christ, Potter, are you fucking a paper doll?" Draco exploded. "I won't break if you decide to go just a bit faster than a fucking glacier!" He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so on edge, other than the fact that he couldn't handle Harry being gentle and loving at that moment—he wanted the brunet to forget himself and just fuck Draco like he meant it.

"So demanding," Harry smiled against Draco's back, but obediently began to slide out and thrust back in at a faster pace. Draco wanted to roll his eyes at the comment but was far too busy being fucked by Harry Potter to manage the sarcastic gesture. "God, Draco, _fuck!_" Harry moaned. "I'm telling you right now, this is not going to last long at all. _Fuck_, you feel so good. You feel _too_ good!"

A part of Draco's mind took a second to wonder what Potter meant or how something pleasurable could feel too pleasurable, but Harry began to move faster, thrust harder, and every thought in Draco's mind was wiped blank. There was something, some spot inside him, that was beginning to feel…almost good, maybe, especially when Harry angled himself a certain way. Draco wanted to ask Potter if he could keep fucking him at that specific angle, and maybe even go just a bit faster, but Harry suddenly stiffened atop him as he thrust in once, twice, shifting his hips in tiny movements as he gasped in Draco's ear.

Ah. So it was over. Draco had survived intact and was officially not a virgin anymore. But he was still hard and pressed flat against his mattress and therefore unable to reach his prick to finish himself off.

"Turn over," Harry whispered in a throaty voice, pulling out and peeling himself off Draco to allow the blond enough room to turn onto his back. Harry gazed down at him for several moments with eyes full of fire before he suddenly ducked his head and took Draco into his mouth.

"Fuck!" Draco yelped in surprise, back arching off the bed.

Harry hummed around his mouthful, bobbing lower and making Draco groan at the same time he slid two fingers back into the blond, who jolted at the unexpected move.

"Harry…" he said uncertainly, not sure why Potter would stick his fingers there. His cock, sure, Draco could understand that, since stimulating a bloke's knob was pretty essential to him getting off. But fingers? Did Potter have some sort of finger kink? Were his fingers somehow abnormally erogenous? Could his fingers achieve orgasms just as well as his prick?

Potter pulled off far enough to mumble several words, what sounded like, "It should be right around here, I think…"

The next second, Draco's entire body jerked as Potter brushed something in his body, something that made Draco inhale sharply. He melted fully into the mattress with a soft sound, wondering what had just happened.

"Found it," Harry said smugly, swallowing Draco's cock once more as his fingers continued to press and poke and rub at something that felt too bloody amazing for words, frankly. Between the mouth on his prick and the fingers up his arse, Draco knew he wouldn't last long, and he now understood what Potter had meant by saying that his earlier pleasure had felt almost too good. _God,_ Draco groaned to himself, he could see now why people were so mad for shagging.

Harry hummed again as he pulled back to suck hard at the tip of Draco's cock, and he felt his back arch as he came with a sharp cry, praying the noise had sounded far more deep and manly than the high-pitched sound he was trying to convince himself had not come from him. It had most likely been a completely separate sound that had occurred far away from the dorm room and had nothing to do with either of the two boys, especially Draco, who only uttered manly sounds like the tough manly man he was—the masculine type of man with more ab muscles than he could count.

With a smile, Harry pulled off completely as he withdrew his fingers, climbing up Draco's body to collapse at his side with a happy expression. "God," he said, ignoring the sticky sweat and the sticky mess and wrapping himself around Draco, "that was incredible. Fuck, you're so incredible, Draco."

"I won't deny it," Draco grinned, carding his fingers through Harry's hair. "I've spent eighteen years being this incredible and I'm still not even used to how overwhelmingly incredible I really am."

Harry laughed. "Such an arrogant prat," he said fondly, kissing Draco's shoulder.

"Are you planning on casting a cleaning charm soon?" Draco wondered haughtily, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach from Harry's words and his soft kisses and his warm eyes. God, Potter had turned him into a right sodding girl, for fuck's sake.

Harry laughed again. "Let me rephrase that—a demanding arrogant prat."

"Potter," Draco whined, "I'm sticky."

"No, you're Draco," Harry grinned, dodging Draco's hand as he swatted at him. "All right, all right, I'm getting my wand!"

Satisfied, Draco lay back and smiled to himself as he felt a gentle cleaning charm tingle over his skin. Harry settled back down next to him, running his fingers up and down Draco's torso.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he suddenly asked, sounding worried as he lifted his head to gaze at Draco in concern.

"Of course not," Draco answered, raising one eyebrow. "Have you ever known me to be the type of person to suffer in silence for someone else's sake? Trust me, Potter, you would have been made well aware if I had been in any pain."

Harry said nothing, staring at Draco with his trademark intensity, only somehow, it was even more intense than usual. How Potter had managed to top his previously unmatchable level of intensity was beyond Draco—such a thing should not be possible. It made Draco feel the urge to climb out of his own skin or flee from the room or plead for a kiss—any of those options sounded better than feeling every inch of his body slowly being set on fire from the heat in Potter's intense gaze.

"I love you, Draco," he finally said, the words taking at least an eternity to penetrate Draco's ears and another eternity before they made sense to his baffled brain. Harry loved him? Is that what he had said? No, Draco must have heard wrong. Perhaps Potter had fucked him so hard his ears had broken. That was probably possible, right? Draco was sure that was what people were talking about when they warned youth of the dangers of sex. "I love you," Harry whispered, and Draco could no longer deny that his ears were in as perfect condition as ever.

But what did that mean? Was Draco now meant to say it back? How could Potter be in love with him? Nobody had ever been in love with him before. He didn't know how to deal with someone being in love with him! He didn't know how to act around someone who was in love with him, or even how to _look_ at someone who was in love with him! Of course, he had always known that Potter was in love with him since Harry couldn't hide his emotions if he were to try, but…actually hearing it said aloud from Harry's own mouth like that was somehow so different.

"I mean—" Harry blushed, tugging the blankets up to his chest defensively, "I've never been in love before or really know what it means to be in love, but…" he glanced up with an almost shy air about him, "but I know that I've never felt this way about anybody else before, Draco. Ever. So it _has_ to be love, right? Because I really do love everything about you. I love your sarcasm and how demanding you can be, and I love those rare moments when you let your defenses down and tell me how you're really feeling. I love the way you look and how you're always so careful with your clothing and your appearance. I even love your friends and how snarky you all are with one another even though you really do care about each other. Every time I'm not with you, I'm thinking about you and wanting to be with you. I just…want to be with you, Draco. 'Cos…you know…I love you. And I would never lie to you about something like this…not about how I feel…" He trailed off uncertainly, speaking down to the blanket clutched tightly in his hands.

"Harry…" Draco breathed, feeling dizzy and light-headed and having absolutely no idea how to respond. What did he say? Should he say he loved Harry back? Did he love Harry back? Fuck, Draco didn't know! How was anyone ever sure about such a thing? Love had always seemed like such a simple concept to him when he was younger—either you loved someone or you didn't. But this was turning out so much more complex than Draco had ever envisioned love being as a child. How could one ever fully define or understand such an overwhelming and abstract term as _love? _Draco had no idea where to even begin. Was love something someone could really explain in words? Or was the feeling too all-consuming to be accurately defined using mere words to describe it? Draco wasn't sure if such questions even had answers—he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

And at the same time, even more than the feeling of uncertainty nearly drowning him, was rising up in Draco from some deep dark recess within him, higher and higher, an inky black wave of guilt threatening to engulf him whole. How could Harry love him without knowing the truth about their relationship? If Harry knew the truth…if he knew that Draco had only ever approached him and spoken to him and flirted with him in a misguided and selfish attempt to manipulate him into being in a romantic relationship with Draco just so the blond could earn back even a few discarded scraps of his tattered reputation…he would never speak to Draco again. He would hate Draco. He would most likely never even so much as look in Draco's direction ever again. Draco knew how much Harry feared the idea of the people in his life—especially the people he trusted—ever using him for their own gain; he knew how much Harry could not stand the thought of being used.

And now he had been used without even realizing it. He had been used by Draco, the one he had just confessed to being in love with.

"Harry…" Draco whispered, wondering if he might asphyxiate beneath the crushing weight of his own guilt. Terror and rising panic swept through him like a tidal wave. "I-I need to tell you something…something that…something that I—you see—"

A sudden knock at the door echoed around the room and Draco jumped violently at the sound, head whipping around. "Draco," a familiar voice called through the door, and Draco was both furiously angry and beyond relieved for Blaise's interruption. "I don't know what sort of kinky sex act you two are up to in there, but your time ended ten minutes ago. I need to finish my Charms essay and it's in the bloody room and neither of you have any parts I haven't seen before on myself, albeit much larger and more magnificent than either of your bits. So, you know," the knob rattled, "open up already."

Neither of them moved.

"Draco! I'm serious! Just let me come in and grab the essay, for fuck's sake. I don't care what you two are doing just as long as it's happening on your side of the room."

Gritting his teeth, Draco buried his hands in his hair and drew a deep breath. "One minute, Blaise, for Christ's sake already!" he shouted. The rattling at the door stopped and the room fell into silence. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a low voice, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry had climbed from the bed and was in the process of pulling on his clothing, but he paused to offer Draco a smile.

"It's okay," he shrugged. "He has every right to come into his own room. We can finish talking later, yeah?" The words were casual and Harry's smile sincere, but there was something about his tone that Draco couldn't put a finger on, some sort of hesitant edge to it, almost as if he already knew he would not like whatever it was that Draco had been about to say. "I should go back to my own dorm anyway. I'll come find you later, k?"

"Okay," Draco mumbled, accepting the kiss Harry pressed to his mouth before the brunet turned and headed to the door.

He paused with his hand on the knob, however, before turning back to look at Draco. "I really did mean it, you know," he said softly. "What I said." And before Draco could respond—not that he could have responded even if he had had a thousand years to do so—the brunet was opening the door and exchanging greetings with Blaise. Draco stared down at his hands, feeling almost numb and hardly even registering the click of the door closing as Blaise shut it behind himself.

"—prat, locking a bloke out of his own goddamn room just so you can engage in a bit of gay kinkery, I mean really, Draco. And then you have the _nerve_—" His short rant suddenly came to a stop as he stepped closer. "Are you okay?" Blaise asked, a genuine vein of concern running through the three words. "Did something happen, Draco? Did Potter do something to you? Do I need to go get Pansy to kick his arse?"

Unwilling to open his mouth lest the truth come pouring free without permission, Draco simply shook his head.

"Draco." Blaise's voice was even closer now, and Draco half-turned to look at him. "Seriously, what's wrong? Something clearly happened, so just tell m—oh my god, are you naked right now?!" The unexpected screech earned an unexpected snort of amusement from Draco. "That is just typical, Draco! I'm standing here all worried about you, trying to have a real conversation about real things, and you're sitting there absolutely starkers, you filthy deviant! Who does that?! Who decides to be naked while their best friend is trying to comfort them?! Don't ever be naked again whilst I am expressing concern for you, for fuck's sake! I'm trying to be a bloody good friend to you and you're sitting there with your little albino penis on full display to the entire world!"

"Oh sod off," Draco snapped, no longer amused. "First of all, it's not little—it's intimidatingly large and the sight causes unbelievable envy in most men, yourself included. Second of all, I am _not_ a fucking albino! And third of all, I have a blanket around my waist you git, you can't even see my enormous fair-skinned penis!"

"Yes, but I know it's there," Blaise whined. "Can you just be more dressed first and _then_ we can have a conversation about whatever the hell is wrong with you? I can't express genuine concern when I'm worried about your dick flopping into sight."

"Fine," Draco grit his teeth. "Get the hell out for a minute then so I can get dressed, you fucking pillock."

"Yeah, but at least I'm clothed," Blaise muttered, crossing the room to exit through the same door he had entered moments earlier.

Reluctantly, Draco dragged himself from the bed and began to dress mechanically, hardly paying attention to what he was doing. "You can come back in now," he called, collapsing onto his back on his mattress and staring up at the canopy above him.

"Oh good," Blaise said as he entered the room, "clothes. Aren't clothes wonderful, Draco? I do so love when my best friends are wearing clothes."

"I changed my mind, you can't come in. Get the fuck back out."

"Too late!" Blaise sang, bouncing across the room only to eye Draco's mattress suspiciously. With a pointed look, he took a seat at Draco's desk, scooting the chair closer to the bed. "So, my little non-albino friend, what happened? Something is definitely wrong."

"Harry," Draco said flatly, hoping that would be all the explanation Blaise needed.

"Harry what?" the other boy prodded, and Draco sighed. "What did Harry do? Did he do something wrong during sex? Did he try to fuck you without any lube? Did he accidentally bite your dick trying to suck you off?"

"No, of course not!" Draco shouted. "He didn't do any of that! The sex was fantastic! He used plenty of lube! And he definitely did not bite my dick when he sucked me off!" The room fell into ringing silence and Draco felt himself blush fiercely as he realized what he had just said.

"Okay," Blaise snorted. "Sooo…from what I understand, he fucked you fantastically and also sucked you off and didn't injure you in the process and all that somehow upset you?"

Draco said nothing.

"Seriously, Draco," Blaise said, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm being genuine here, I really am. What else happened?"

"He told me he loves me," Draco confessed in a low voice. "He fucking—he just fucking _told _me! Out of nowhere! With no warning! Who doesn't warn a person before saying something that monumental?! How the fuck am I meant to respond?! Am I meant to say it back? Should I have pretended not to hear him? Because he fucking loves me, Blaise, and I've done nothing but lie to him!"

"Draco…" Blaise began uncertainly. "It's really not _technically_ lying…"

"Yes, it is!" Draco insisted. Blaise was lying at that moment just to make him feel better, but Draco _couldn't _feel better because he was far too aware of what he had done. "The _only_ reason we are together is because I was the first to approach him! And the only reason I approached him was so I could trick him into telling people we were involved! The very first thing I said to him was a lie! The only reason I ever thanked him was to manipulate him into a relationship by basically tricking him into trusting me! The whole point of that was just to fool him into thinking I was genuine! Who the fuck does that?! Who the fuck actually manipulates another person into a romantic fucking relationship for their own selfish fucking gain?! And the way he looks at me, Blaise…I just—I just can't—_fuck_, I just can't—!"

"Draco, it's okay," Blaise soothed, moving onto the bed next to the blond. "Hey, it's fine. It'll all be fine. I, um…it'll be fine," he finished helplessly, looking a bit lost, and Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes.

A sudden knock at the door startled both boys. "Blaise?" Pansy called, "Where are you? You were meant to grab your essay and meet me back in the common room! What happened?" Without waiting for a response, she twisted the handle and pushed the door open, striding inside and allowing it swing shut behind her. "Fuck, what really did happen?" she wondered, pausing as she took in the scene.

"Oh, thank god!" Blaise sagged in relief. "Thank god you're here, Pansy, you've just entered a room full of emotions and I need help!"

"A room full of emotions?" she scoffed. "What does that even mean?"

"It means that Very Serious Emotions are happening in here and we need your help!" Blaise hissed.

"Well, what's wrong?" she asked, suddenly somber.

But Draco hadn't even finished deciding whether he wanted to speak or remain silent before Blaise began to answer for him. "Well," he said matter-of-factly, "from what I understand, Draco is no longer a virgin, Potter is great in bed and rather generous with his usage of lubricant, nobody got their dicks bitten, and Potter decided to tell Draco how much he's in love with him and Draco is now wallowing in an entire emotional river of regret. And then I'm pretty sure that's when I came in, right as the river and the wallowing began. After that I know for sure is when _you_ came in. And now here we are in the emotional thick of it, all caught up. Draco, did I miss anything?"

"Only my overwhelming guilt and irredeemable betrayal of the person I'm romantically involved with," he responded sarcastically.

"Oh, right," Blaise nodded before turning back to Pansy. "Also, he's suffering from overwhelming guilt as a result of betraying the person he's romantically involved with."

"Irredeemably," Draco reminded him dryly.

"Irredeemably," Blaise repeated with a firm nod.

"What did you say back?" Pansy asked carefully, moving to sit on the other side of Draco.

"You're assuming I said anything at all," Draco drawled.

"Well, what do you _feel_ back?"

"Besides the overwhelming guilt we mentioned earlier?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Yes, but that's not the only thing you feel for him. What else do you feel for him? Do you love him back, Draco?"

Draco clenched his eyes shut. "I don't know! You can't just—you can't just ask someone that question without warning! Why doesn't anybody know how to warn a person before making dramatic proclamations and asking such personal questions?!"

"Noted. Next time I'll signal with flashing lights before asking any personal questions of my best friend," Pansy replied sardonically. "Now stop deflecting and just answer the damn question already."

"_I'm_ not deflecting, _you're _deflecting," Draco muttered, sighing loudly when Pansy gave him a Look. "Fine! I don't know how I feel, all right? I mean, obviously, yes, I care about him. And obviously, I enjoy being around him. And based on the fact that I let him stick his cock in me on the very spot you're now sat in, I'm obviously attracted to him. And yes, he makes me laugh and says things that I've never—" he cut himself off before he could finish the statement. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, I think I maybe do love him. Possibly. Maybe. Just a bit." _Totally and completely._

"But you still feel guilty," she finished, and Draco clenched his eyes shut even tighter as he nodded. "It really must be love for a person to be able to provoke guilt in you, Draco. Especially when they don't even know they're doing it."

He cracked his eyes open to glare half-heartedly in her direction before the look melted away to be replaced with misery. "He's going to hate me, Pansy."

"Of course he won't, darling, because you never need to tell him. And even if you do, he'll understand," she soothed, patting his leg. "It was more of a misunderstanding than an outright lie. He loves you and he'll understand."

"No, he won't!" Draco insisted, throwing himself from the bed and beginning to pace. "All he'll see is another person who tried to use him for their own selfish benefit! If there's one thing he can't handle, Pans, it's being manipulated. Do you have any idea how many people in his life have tried to use him? He spent years living with people who used him as nothing more than a goddamn house-elf! And when they weren't ordering him to cook and clean for them, they locked him away out of sight! And then he gets to Hogwarts and finds out that he's the most famous fucking person in the whole nation but all because he's nothing more than a sodding _name_ to most people! He's been manipulated by practically everyone around him! From what I've gathered from things he's told me, Dumbledore spent entire _years_ manipulating him! Keeping things from him and telling him half-truths and sometimes using him as a bloody pawn in the war and it made him feel awful and betrayed when he finally found everything out! And that's not even mentioning the Ministry and all the people in it who've tried at least ten dozen times to use him for their own gain! Every single Minister including and since Fudge has tried to use him in some way! The _Daily Prophet_ uses him to sell papers, no matter how false the fucking story is! Do you remember the stories Skeeter published about him when he had practically only been a _child? _He was nothing but a headline to her and he was only fourteen at the time! And do you not remember when Umbridge targeted him specifically and used him as an example to every other student in the entire castle?! And Snape did the exact same thing all the time, just because Harry _existed!_ Harry couldn't even go to class without being used and targeted, and by the fucking _professors_, no less! Harry even told me that Seamus Finnigan opened a pub off Diagon Alley not too long ago and asked Harry if he could tell people that his new pub is regularly frequented by Harry Potter, even though Harry has never even fucking been there! And Finnigan is his _friend!_ Every single person in this world sees Harry as some sort of stepping stone placed there for their own personal benefit or else as some sort of brand name to be used for their gain—anything Harry Potter Approved is good enough for the nation based on his name alone, even if he never actually approved of whatever it is!" Draco paused to breathe deeply, burying his hands in his hair and trying to calm himself.

"All he'll see," he finally said in a soft voice, "is another person who attempted to use him for their own gain. All he'll see is someone who tricked him. You two don't understand; he's never really been seen as a real person outside of the way his friends see him, but even Weasley had been raised knowing his name and hearing stories about Harry that Harry wasn't even aware of himself. He's only ever been seen as his name. He's his name before he's a person. His name is all people seem to care about when it comes to him. Every witch and wizard had already built up an image of Harry Potter in their minds before he had ever even stepped foot in our world. And all he'll see now is another person he trusted who let him down. All he'll see is how I lied to him just to benefit from nothing more than our names being publicly linked. All he'll see is how I did this for no other reason than to use his fame to my own advantage."

Draco's words faded into silence so sharp he could nearly taste it on his tongue, smell it in the air, feel it on his skin. Nobody made a sound, nothing moved, and Draco wondered if he could somehow pause the entire world if he remained perfectly still forever.

"Draco," a quiet voice spoke, and he turned his head to see Pansy standing behind him, eyes shining with a sympathy that he was not accustomed to seeing from her. "It'll be okay. I promise, love, it'll be okay. He loves you enough to listen and understand. Harry loves you and it will all be okay."

"No, it won't," he whispered, unable to fight it when Pansy pulled him into a hug. All he could do was bury his face against her shoulder and cling to her as tightly as he could, drawing deep breaths and swallowing back his upset as much as possible. Draco had destroyed his relationship with Harry before it had ever even started, and once Harry found out, nothing would ever be okay again.

* * *

"You look like shit, darling," Pansy greeted him the next morning, and he glared.

"Better than looking like a weird flamingo," he muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Pansy sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "Are you ever going to fucking drop the flamingo thing?"

"Not until you stop sounding like one," Draco responded, looking around the room. "Where the hell is Blaise?"

"In front of the closest mirror, I'm sure. Find the closest mirror and you'll undoubtedly find Blaise."

"Fuck," Draco swore. "He could be there for fucking hours. We're pretty much doomed to miss breakfast if he's found a mirror. I thought I had hidden all the mirrors from him. I have never met a person able to stare at themselves for as long as Blaise does. I swear that more than half his life has been spent sitting before mirrors or staring into anything even slightly reflective."

"Is this how you lot always talk about me when I'm not around?" a voice asked, and Draco turned to watch Blaise stride up to the two of them. "Come on then you whingey little things, let's go already, I'm hungry."

"You don't get to show up last and then rush us like that," Draco glared. "You're the problem, you prat, not us."

Blaise raised one eyebrow at him. "Well, isn't someone just a right little ray of sunshine today. Don't take your inner turmoil out on us just because we're here, Draco."

The words made Draco grit his teeth, clenching his eyes shut as he forced himself to calm. "Let's just go to breakfast," he muttered, opening his eyes in time to see Blaise give a single nod.

The three Slytherins made their way to the Great Hall in an unusual silence; for once, Draco had nothing to say and it seemed as though the other two were unsure what to say to him. They entered the Hall and made their way to their usual spots at the very end of the table, silently serving themselves breakfast. Draco stared down at his tea, stirring it around and around and listening to the clink of the metal spoon hitting the glass of the cup, refusing to look up. Who knew tea could be so fascinating? It might possibly be the most fascinating cup of tea in the entire world. Maybe Draco wouldn't ever look up again—maybe watching tea spiral would be more than enough to entertain him for the rest of eternity and he could live out his life in that very spot, not looking up and not speaking to anyone.

The thought made him frown.

"Draco," Pansy said quietly, and he glanced up at her, forgetting about his recent decision to never remove his eyes from his impossibly interesting tea. She was staring around the Hall curiously, and now that Draco was no longer so actively fascinated by his dull boring tea, he started noticing that most of the students in the large room seemed to be staring at him; a low rush of whispers was steadily sweeping around the room like a babbling stream. What was going on?

"Draco," an unexpected voice said, and Draco startled as Harry suddenly appeared at his side, looking grim. The expression made Draco instantly panic, certain the brunet had somehow discovered his scheme. _Oh god, he knows. And now he's here to yell at me in front of everyone and then publicly shun me and then probably let Weasley hex me into dust._ Of course, none of that actually sounded like anything Harry would do, but Draco was too distraught to remember that at the moment.

"Potter, what's happening?" Blaise's question sliced through Draco's building hysteria, popping the suffocating bubble of anxiety surrounding Draco and allowing him to breathe fresh air once more.

"This," Harry said simply, laying a copy of the _Daily Prophet _down on the table between everyone. There, on the front cover, was a large moving picture of Harry and Draco holding hands as they strolled down a sloping hill, the Great Lake winking in the background. Draco felt his heart stumble in dread as the tiny picture Harry pulled Draco to a stop, a wide grin on his face as he tugged the blond in close for a kiss. Horror mounting, Draco watched as he pretended to resist for a moment before giving in with a smile. Good lord, picture-Draco even appeared to be _blushing!_ Oh god, _no_! No, such a horrid picture existing in publication was unacceptable!

"Who the hell took this picture?" Draco said in a low, dangerous voice, scanning the page for a hint of the photographer's name, but he could find nothing.

"I'm guessing someone in this school made a lot of gold selling that to the paper," Blaise said, turning the newspaper toward him to get a better look. "Frankly, I'm surprised the _Prophet_ didn't print something sooner. Neither of you has really been subtle about your unbridled lust for one another. The entire school has known for a while now. I wonder if nobody else in the nation would believe it without picture proof."

"Fuck," Draco swore, trying to control his breathing. "How many papers do you think are in circulation? We need to contact the stupid evil sodding _Prophet_ and make them stop printing this issue immediately! And then we need to go around and collect every single paper that managed to make it into a single person's hands. And then we need to Obliviate those people." The other three stared at him. "Well?" he asked impatiently. "What are you waiting for? We have a lot of work ahead of us, let's go! We can each take a table and start Obliviating. I'll start with Slytherin, you lot go get started on the other Houses."

"Draco, have you even read this story?" Blaise sighed, sounding exasperated.

"Of course not," Draco glared at the newspaper on the table. "That paper and all its articles are evil. And libelous. And probably mean."

Blaise picked up the paper with another sigh. "They describe you as a newly-reformed Death Eater responsible for being fundamental in the defeat of You-Know-Who."

"No they didn't," Draco argued automatically.

Blaise continued as though the blond had not spoken. "It specifically talks about how it was your wand that Harry used to end him."

"No it doesn't."

"And then," Blaise spoke louder, "it talks about how fortunate it is that the two of you were able to rise above the tragedy of the past to find one another amidst the lingering grief and despair of a recovering nation, and how you should no longer be penalized for your father's crimes."

Draco shook his head frantically. "No, it doesn't!" That could not possibly be true—Blaise had to be lying. There was no way that anyone would write such un-mean things about Draco!

"It even goes on to outright claim that you and Potter were romantically involved before the war's end."

"No we weren't!" That, at least, was a lie Draco could argue.

"Well of course you weren't," Blaise sighed. "We all know that. I'm just telling you what the article says."

"No, it doesn't say any of that. They hate me!" Draco reminded them dramatically. "You're just lying to make me feel better. The article is most likely about how evil and wretched and soulless I am and how I deserve to be trampled to death beneath the angry feet of the entire hordes of people who loathe me and want to see me dead. All it probably says is that I deserve to be killed from the overwhelming bloodlust of the entire nation's personal outrage towards me."

"Read it yourself then," Blaise shrugged, tossing the paper back on the table.

"It really does say all that, you know," Harry said softly. "Blaise wasn't lying."

"But they hate me," Draco said weakly. "They've never printed anything even remotely kind about me. And then they just come out with all that ridiculous bollocks out of nowhere?"

"Well," Harry began, sounding uncomfortable, "there are definitely a few less flattering articles printed, but those aren't even close to the front page. The first unflattering one isn't even until, like, the third page."

"Let me guess," Draco began sarcastically, "they all claim me to be the second Dark Lord in waiting who has corrupted their Saviour with my evil cock of malevolence, am I correct?"

"Sort of," Potter said before laughing unexpectedly. "Mostly though they just talk about how you must have tricked me into the relationship with lies and potions and evil Slytherin schemes and all that sort of rot." He laughed again. "Those wankers." He shook his head in amusement, apparently not noticing the way Draco's insides were twisting tighter and tighter into tangled knots that would never be unraveled, or the way that none of the Slytherins were able to meet Harry's eye.

"Hey look!" Blaise interrupted, and Draco tried to put his inner breakdown on pause as he turned to look at the other boy. "There's another picture on the fourth page, and Pansy and I are in it!" He set the paper down with an air of excitement, showing Draco a moving photograph (that might have been unmoving for how boring it was—honestly, why would they print that?) of the four of them sitting around a table in the library together. Harry was laughing at some joke one of the others had made, and Draco stared at the relaxed picture-Harry, noticing for the first time just how truly at ease the Gryffindor seemed to be in their company. Would Potter miss Pansy and Blaise as well when he found out about Draco's deception and cut Draco out of his life completely? Or would he then hate all three of them and only ever again think of them with loathing?

"Look!" Blaise continued, pointing enthusiastically at the article beneath the picture. "It doesn't even say anything bad about me and Pansy!"

"Fuck, Potter, association with you really can change anyone's mind about anything, can't it?" Pansy said in an impressed voice, peering at the picture as well. "Draco, this might actually make all the cursed hate mail you get stop completely."

"What?" Harry turned to the blond in concern. "You don't really get cursed mail, do you?"

"No!" Draco denied stoutly before pausing. "Well, sometimes, but hardly ever, really. Only very rarely. It's nothing to worry about."

"Yes," Pansy said dryly, "it's only often enough for me to feel the need to bring it up. Don't listen to him, Potter. Out of the three of us, Draco gets the most hate mail and definitely the most curses."

"You two get hate mail as well?" Harry sounded nonplussed, a light sheen of disbelief and distress in his eyes.

"Occasionally," Blaise shrugged in a manner far more casual than Draco knew he really felt about the situation. "Not as often as Draco."

"I would say it's gone down to a once or twice a month sort of occurrence for me now," Pansy copied Blaise's shrug. "For Blaise, it's more glares and hateful mutters than actual mail. But that's more for his association and unyielding loyalty to me and Draco despite our unreputable names."

"Why do you get hate mail?" Potter asked Pansy, nose scrunched in confusion. The air of concern hanging over him was growing more tangible.

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Do you not remember the time when I made the mistake of being far too vocal about my willingness to hand you over to a certain evil snake-faced wanker of doom?"

"Oh yeah," Harry said thoughtfully. "I s'pose that did happen."

Pansy gave him a flat look. "Yes, for some reason, that didn't exactly make me the most popular person in the nation. I personally thought it was a brilliantly simple plan for saving all our lives, but other people just did not seem to be able to see my point of view on its utter simplicity and obvious brilliance."

"Well, what about you, Draco?" Potter turned to him, the concern on his face now nearly overwhelming. "How often do you get hate mail?"

"Never!" Draco immediately answered, sighing when Blaise and Pansy both raised their eyebrows in disagreement. "Hardly ever," he grumbled. "Occasionally, but really not that often."

Blaise shook his head with a sigh. "You have no idea how many Howlers Draco has had to Vanish this year, Potter. Isn't your record forty-one cursed envelopes in one month, Draco?"

"Forty-seven," Pansy corrected automatically. "That was in June."

"And that's not even counting the non-cursed hate mail he got that month," Blaise said, ignoring Draco's glare. "Your boyfriend is not lying when he says he's not a well-liked individual, Potter."

"Are you serious?" Great. Now Harry sounded upset. "What the hell is wrong with people?"

"Welcome to our lives," Pansy shrugged.

"It's nothing to worry about, Harry," Draco insisted. "It's something I've gotten more or less used to by now. It's just something that goes along with belonging to the marvelous Malfoy family these days."

"Well, it stops now," Harry said, sounding far more determined than Draco was sure he should feel. How could Harry make strangers stop hating Draco? "I mean, look at this article, Draco! The one on the front page doesn't say anything derogatory about you! Or about me for being with you! So maybe now that people know we're dating, they'll stop looking at you so negatively! Even Pansy and Blaise as well!"

The three Slytherins stared at him. It was several moments before Draco could speak. "Potter," he croaked, "you hate using your fame for anything, especially to sway public opinion."

"Well, yeah," Harry shifted uncomfortably, "but I am aware that my name is rather well-known at this point, and no matter how much I don't want it to, it does seem to hold a bit of sway. And if using that gets people to stop sending you cursed fucking hate mail, Draco, I'll do it willingly. If it will help make people hate you less for us to be seen together, then I'm glad for any sort of influence I have to make it all stop, even if it's an influence I never wanted. I…" he flushed crimson, "you know…love you. And I like spending time with the three of you. So if all it takes for you lot to stop being treated like that is for my name to be connected to yours, then good. I'll be grateful for it."

The Hall seemed to fall into ringing silence; had Draco's ears stopped working? Had Potter's unexpected words somehow broken them? But no, Draco mused, he could still hear the distant sounds of students eating breakfast in the background, the hum of chatter and scrape of utensils. But their little bubble of privacy they were afforded by always sitting at the very end of the table by themselves seemed to have gone utterly quiet. Draco could not speak, and he was completely unable to look at Potter. It really had worked—Blaise's plan had worked. Not only had Harry been tricked into a relationship, but he was now offering the very thing they had all been after the moment the scheme had been set in motion.

And now that it was really happening…all Draco felt was empty.

He turned to look at the other two, noting that Blaise was eyeing him with a sharp, significant look, a swirl of emotions in his gaze that Draco could not read, which he thought was a very good thing, considering the fact that if he had been able to read even a hint of smug triumph in Blaise's eyes, Draco would have had to hex him. Pansy was staring between Draco and Harry with narrowed eyes, head tilted as she considered them.

"Harry…" Draco whispered, unsure what to follow the two syllables with.

"So," Harry began, sounding firm, "if anyone asks, I'm going to tell them the truth. That Draco is my boyfriend and I love him. And that you two are—"

"Charming annoyances?" Blaise suggested helpfully, and Draco rolled his eyes in agreement.

"Lovely misunderstood classmates?" Pansy added.

"Hilarious acquaintances?"

"Sarcastic beloved chums?"

"I was thinking more like close friends," Harry interrupted wryly, shaking his head in amusement. "But if you want, I can definitely say all of that as well."

"Are we, Potter?" Blaise asked curiously, studying Harry with a level of seriousness that Draco was not used to seeing from the dark-skinned boy.

Harry grinned. "Aren't you the one always saying how we're all best friends? I think you were calling the two of us best friends within about five minutes of us speaking with one another."

"Well, yes, but…" Blaise trailed off, looking down at his plate, and Draco wondered what he was thinking.

"I defend my friends," Harry shrugged. "It's a Gryffindor thing."

"Thank you, Harry," Pansy said softly, and Harry looked at her in surprise, as though he had never imagined that sort of sincerity ever coming from her mouth. "Really. Thank you. For not only being willing to do such a thing for us but wanting to do so as well."

"Yeah," Blaise said, "nobody outside of the three of us is willing to tie their names with ours, especially in this school. You're the only one so far since the war ended who's even been willing to be seen with us in public. This really is dead decent of you, Harry."

Harry just grinned. "Not as selfless as you might think, considering the fact that I've never been able to make myself care what the public says about me. I never would have guessed before this year that we could all be friends. But you three are good people. And I get the feeling that none of you really ever get told that." The three Slytherins exchanged a look of agreement. "But you _are_ good people, even if you are all snarky sarcastic arseholes who like to spend all your time doing weird things like comparing people to unflattering animals and calling each other…what was it you said, Parkinson?" Harry scrunched up his nose as he thought. "Something like cunty-headed shit sacks, or something?"

"Cunt-faced ballsacks," she said automatically.

"That's the one," Harry snapped his fingers, still grinning. "I knew it was something with faces and bits."

"I can't believe you remembered a casual insult of mine," Pansy said, sounding flattered. "I didn't know you were paying attention. The two of us really are best friends, aren't we, Potter?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You do realize that he didn't actually remember it _correctly_, don't you, Pans? So maybe the word 'best' is a bit extreme for his relationship with you. That makes you third on his list of favorites, right after Draco, of course, since Harry obviously loves me the most and naturally put me at the top of the list on account of us being so very close. Right, Harry?"

Draco glowered at the other boy as Harry laughed. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Zabini," he grinned, reaching down to twine his fingers with Draco's. The gesture made Draco relax somewhat, taking comfort in the warm touch.

"You're not even on the list, dickhead," said Draco, hearing a threshold of anger in his voice and deciding that he maybe wasn't as relaxed as he had thought. Everything about that morning was putting him more and more on edge about the entire situation. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of his control; Draco still couldn't believe that Harry had so willingly offered to use his fame and respect to elevate the three Slytherins from the lowest and most despised rung of the social ladder.

"I _am_ the list, Draco," Blaise corrected him, sounding amused. Draco felt his hackles rise before he noticed a glimmer of something soft and oddly compunctious in Blaise's eyes as he gazed at the blond.

"Sorry to have to end the mystery right here," Harry cut in, squeezing Draco's hand, "but Draco is the list, I'm afraid. You can be on part two of the list," the brunet allowed.

"How kind of you, Potter, thank you," Blaise deadpanned.

"Bagsy top spot," Pansy smirked.

"Bollocks you do!" Blaise argued. "I already have top spot! Get back on the bottom of the list where you belong, woman!"

"But I already bagsied it, darling," she smirked wider.

"Bollocks again!" Blaise glared. "I implied bags on it way before you did, you lying wench!"

"How old are the two of you again? Jesus Christ," Draco muttered, shooting them both a stinging look. "You're embarrassing yourselves, knock it off already."

"I dunno, Draco," Harry said cheerfully, "I think I like hearing people fight over my friendship like this. Makes me feel all important and loved."

The other two gave him identical flat stares. "You're right, he's not worth fighting over," Blaise said in a voice just as flat as his expression. "Congratulations, you get top spot on part two of the list, Pans."

"Eh," she tilted her head, "I think I might be good now, actually. He already has a part one, does he really need a part two?"

"Let him feel loved, Pansy," Blaise chided in a patient tone. "Just accept the top spot so he doesn't get his feelings hurt."

"You accept the top spot if you don't want him to get his feelings hurt!"

"I gave it to you first!"

"And I declined the first offer! Manners dictate that you have to now take it, Blaise!"

"Manners are bullshit and all of us have always thought so!"

"Okay," Harry interrupted, staring between them incredulously, "did the two of you seriously go from fighting over who gets to be my best mate to fighting over who doesn't have to be my best mate all in the span of three seconds?"

"Of course, darling," Pansy smiled. "We're mysterious individuals, don't assume that you'll ever be able to predict what we'll do or say."

"We like to keep people on their toes around us," Blaise added with a grin. "Keep 'em guessing over what we're gonna do and say next. Our actions, just like our souls, are complex and unforeseeable, Potter, you should know this about us by now."

"You're not complex, you're just defective twats," Draco told them as Harry chuckled.

"My twat works perfectly fine, thank you very much, Draco," Pansy said sweetly, "but ta ever so for the concern."

"Urgh," Draco wrinkled his nose. He did _not _want to hear about Pansy's sodding minge.

Despite his obvious and crippling disgust, however, she continued speaking. "Blaise's twat, however, is another story, I'm afraid. She's a bit of a mess down there, you were right about that one being defective."

"Great, you had to keep talking and now I'm traumatized forever," Draco grumbled, trying his hardest not to picture Blaise with a deformed, defective twat. Lord, why did Pansy have to take his statement and turn it around on him in such a life-scarring manner?

"I don't have a twat, you twat!" Blaise argued, turning to Pansy in outrage. "You're the twatty one! You're a double twat! You have a twat and you are a twat! So hence, double twat."

"I would call you a double knob in return," Pansy responded, "but all of us have yet to see actual proof that your knob really exists. So it looks like you're a sad lonely knob all by yourself. Not because you have one, but because you are one. You poor lonely little knobless knob."

Harry laughed as Blaise huffed. "Can I award her points for that?" Potter asked with a grin.

"Of course, Potter," she said smoothly, "award me as many thousands of points as you would like."

He shook his head in amusement. "I was thinking more like five."

"What?" she demanded. "Only five? For that epic takedown? They'll be talking about that victory for years, Potter! Bloody _years!_ I crushed Blaise beneath an iron fist of wit and you're only awarding me five points for my triumph?"

"All right," Harry chuckled. "Seven points then."

The three Slytherins stared at him. "Seven?" Draco asked, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You can't award seven, Potter. Points are always awarded on variables of five, you can't just go changing the rules like that."

Potter shrugged, offering them a cheeky smile. "I'm just complex and unforeseeable like that, I suppose. I'm too mysterious and unpredictable for you lot to ever try to force rules on me."

Blaise's lips twitched as Pansy tried to disguise a laugh as a cough. "Goddamnit, Potter, ten points to you," Blaise said reluctantly, finally allowing his grin to break through.

"Won't be long now 'til I catch up," said Harry cheerfully.

"Sure," Draco rolled his eyes, "any day now, Potter."

"And speaking of catching up," Pansy interrupted, "we're going to be late to class."

Glancing around at her words, Draco was surprised to find that the large room was almost completely deserted, only a handful of stragglers left. Against their will, the four of them rose to their feet and began to make their way from the Hall.

A warm hand suddenly slid into his own, and Draco startled, looking to his left to see Harry smiling softly at him. They pulled back just slightly, allowing Pansy and Blaise to take the lead.

"I know the thought of our relationship being thrust into the spotlight of the entire nation makes you nervous," Harry said, keeping his voice quiet, "but I'm glad that everyone knows about us. I've never been ashamed to be with you, Draco, and I'm glad that I can show people that. I love you. And I'm glad that I have the opportunity to change people's minds about you, even if it's only through my name being connected with yours that does that."

Trying to swallow down the large lump that had suddenly sprung up in his throat, Draco said nothing, only tightened his hand around Harry's in response. He felt his stomach squirm with the now-familiar feeling of boiling guilt, blistering his insides raw. The feeling increased as Harry squeezed his hand back and smiled at Draco in that way, that warm, soft way that let Draco know how much Harry cared for him. There was no denying that Harry loved him when he looked at Draco in such a way.

Still holding hands, Draco made the journey to class in absolute silence.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: In which Draco is annoyed, Weasley is a prude, Harry is embarrassed, and penises are once again mentioned.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Whispers.

Whispers.

_More fucking whispers._

Everywhere Draco went, whispers seemed to follow like drizzling rain, a constant orchestral background of murmurs and hushed speculations. Everybody seemed to always be staring at him, always talking about him, always noticing him, and all the attention was making Draco want to crawl out of his skin.

"Make them fucking stop already!" he hissed, almost slamming his textbook down on the library table in frustration. Until he remembered that Madam Pince had the hearing of a bat and the patience of a…he scrunched his nose. Did bats have low patience? The patience of a housecat? Were those particularly impatient creatures? Draco had never owned a cat and had no idea, but they certainly seemed like creatures that would not hesitate to disembowel anyone if any of their beloved books were violated or their beloved silence disrupted. Or any of their beloved…what did cats love? Small animals to toss about and frighten to death? Yes, Draco mused, he supposed that would make the analogy an accurate one.

"Make who stop what?" Pansy asked in a bored voice, flipping through a magazine and ignoring the half-written essay before her.

"Make them all stop staring!" Draco ground out. "All of—" he flapped his hand around the large room, "_them!_"

"All of who?" she continued in the same apathetic tone.

"All of everyone!" he snapped. "Every single person in this castle! Just constantly staring and whispering and being bloody annoying prats!"

Pansy raised one eyebrow. "You want me to order hundreds of teenagers to stop being annoying?" Draco ground his teeth. "And to stop gossiping?" Draco ground his teeth even harder. "And to stop using their eyes?" Draco's jaw hurt from how hard he was grinding his teeth. "You may as well ask me to order the rain to not be so wet, darling."

"Pansy—"

"You may as well ask me to order the snow to not be so cold."

"Pans—"

"You may as well ask me to order dragons to be vegetarians."

"P—"

"You may as well—"

"Pansy!" he finally snapped, immediately glancing around himself to make sure there was no danger of any batlike (housecat-like?) librarians swooping down on him and tearing his precious innards straight from his precious body.

"Honestly, Draco," Pansy huffed, closing the magazine to frown at him. "So they're talking about you, so what? That's a good thing, you realize. Most of what they're saying is good. People are finally looking at you without glaring. People are finally talking about you without it being to wish you death. I overheard a group of Hufflepuff fourth-years the other day talking about how cute you and Potter look together in that latest article picture."

Draco's mouth dropped open in shock. "Cute?" he demanded. "What the hell do they mean by cute? I have never been so insulted in my life! We're _striking_, is what we are! We're bloody _devastating!_ We're fucking gorgeous and eye-catching and enviable and sexy as all hell! But fucking _cute_ we are not!"

Pansy looked at him, lips twitching. "Right. Next time I'll be sure to tell them that you are not now, and have never been, cute."

"Thank you," he sniffed. "That's exactly the sort of consideration I expect from my best friends."

"But seriously, Draco," she said quietly, leaning in closer. "You need to stop panicking about everything. Everything is fine, okay? People are finally starting to warm to you. That Gryffindor fifth who bumped into you the other day actually said excuse me! That never would have happened before all those _Prophet_ articles!"

"I hate those fucking articles," Draco muttered. Whilst the articles were gradually slowing, every single one they printed was even more flattering than the last. The unmitigated bastards. How dare they continue to find nice things to say about Draco? They had even gone so far as to fabricate nice things to say about him, such as suggesting that he had given Harry his wand on purpose during the war out of love or affection or sexual attraction or some stupid rot. There had even been an article hinting that all the past antagonism between the two boys had been nothing more than unresolved sexual tension!

Sexual tension. As if. Draco had had a particularly good time incinerating _that_ article.

"This is what we wanted, Draco," Pansy said softly. "this is what all of this was started for. This was why you approached Potter in the first place. Just…enjoy the fact that nobody is openly hating you anymore. Please."

Draco glared down at his lap. "You and Blaise seem to enjoy it enough for me."

"We're only making the best of the situation," she shrugged, "in any way we can. And we're sorry that you feel bad about all of this, Draco, really we are. But I'd be lying if I said we weren't also grateful that this has happened. Everything is getting better for us every day, especially after that interview that Potter did with the _Prophet_."

Draco's glare sharpened. It was true that a fortnight ago, Harry had given an interview with the _Daily_ _Prophet_, willingly and voluntarily, talking about second chances and not allowing preconceptions to cloud a person's judgment of someone and how much he cared about Draco. He then went on to talk about how grateful he was to have Draco in his life as well as how glad he was to have gotten the chance to know Pansy and Blaise, whom he had described as good friends. The castle had been bursting with gossip and squeals and almost friendly glances at Draco that had made him want to claw at his own skin.

He missed the glares and the suspicion and the mistrust. At least those responses had been guilt-free.

"Just be happy, Draco," Pansy continued, reaching across to pat him on the hand. "Stop making yourself feel awful and just be happy already. I don't understand why you can't just let this guilt go."

If he was being honest with himself, Draco was not sure why he couldn't let it go either. Guilt was not an entirely new emotion for him—he had felt guilt before, of course. He had felt guilty for attempting to kill the Headmaster and endangering the student body and getting several people injured in the process, but he had been able to brush the feeling off by reminding himself that he had been pushed into a corner and in fear for his life, and his actions were therefore not completely entirely one hundred percent his fault. He felt guilty for once making a younger girl cry by calling her a clumsy unsightly cow when she accidentally stumbled into him in fourth year, but he had been able to ignore the feeling by forcing a laugh with the others and sweeping away with his back ramrod straight. He had felt guilty for accidentally setting fire to a two-hundred Galleon designer cloak that was a present to Blaise from his mother, but he had moved past that by blaming the incident on Greg. And he had then moved past the guilt of blaming Greg by buying him a large ice cream in Hogsmeade the following weekend. So clearly, Draco was no stranger to guilt.

But something like this was so different from the other times…nobody had forced him into anything. It had not been an accident or a kneejerk reaction to a slight. It had been a premeditated plan. Blaise had suggested it, but nobody had forced Draco into following after Potter. Nobody had forced him into dragging Harry into a bathroom and offering insincere gratitude to him. Nobody had forced Draco to be the one to initiate a kiss between them. And nobody could now force Draco to not feel guilty about it all.

"Hello all!" a voice said brightly, and Draco glanced up to find Blaise beaming down at them with a smiling Harry standing beside him. "There you two sneaky little chipmunks are! Potter and I have been searching positively everywhere for the two of you!"

"Yes, because there are so many places we could have been hiding," Draco drawled sarcastically.

"You two are certainly sly little undercover lambs when you want to be," Blaise trilled, ignoring all danger from Madam Pince and her freakish bat ears as he dropped into the seat next to Pansy.

"And where have you two been together?" Draco asked, eyes narrowed.

"You mean us?" Blaise asked innocently, shooting Harry a coy look. "How many broom cupboards would you say, Harry darling? Fifty? Sixty?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Are there even that many broom cupboards in the castle?" Taking the seat next to Draco, he offered the blond a smile before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Don't you worry, love, we'll get through them all eventually," Blaise promised, earning an amused eye roll from Harry and a kick from Draco.

"This is why you weren't invited to the broom cupboards, you violent prat," Blaise sniffed, reaching down to rub at his hopefully broken leg.

"He's the only one invited to the broom cupboards," Harry grinned.

"Well that shows what you know, Potter," Blaise sniffed again. "I shall have to have a lovely time in there without you."

"Sure, Zabini," Harry's grin widened. "Just you and your hand."

"Ha, wanker!" Pansy cackled, pointing one talon-like nail at Blaise. "Potter just called you a wanker, if you didn't catch that."

"A sad wanker," Draco added.

"The saddest wanker in all the land," Harry nodded, chuckling as Blaise glared at all of them.

"I don't know why you're so smug, Pansy," he huffed. "You're just as close with your hand as I am with mine. We're both equally as sexually inactive, you realize."

"Yes, but my hand is so much nicer than yours," she grinned. "It's always telling me how pretty I am and buying me presents and offering to pay for my meals and such."

Blaise stared at her. "Are you saying that you're being seduced by your own wanking hand?"

"Better than being seduced by nothing, like you," she shrugged.

"No," he disagreed slowly, "it's definitely less sad to be seduced by nothing than to be seduced by the inanimate part of your own body that you use to wank yourself with."

"I'm sure Pansy has devices for such things," Draco said pityingly, and Blaise snorted.

"That's even more sad!"

"Well," Harry interrupted, "as much fun as it is to think of Parkinson using her hand and various devices to wank with, maybe we could change the subject?"

"Yes," Blaise agreed, "Potter would obviously much rather hear about _my_ preferred method of wanking."

"No he wouldn't," Draco and Harry said together, and Harry turned to grin at the blond.

"Everyone knows you're a wanker, Blaise," Draco said patiently, "but nobody wants to actually imagine you wanking. None of us are quite so self-loathing for such an image."

"Well, that just shows what any of you sorry sods know," Blaise said indignantly. "I am an absolute delight to imagine wanking. Try it right now."

The other three stared at him.

"So anyway," Pansy said loudly, turning away from Blaise. "How about that weather today, hmm?"

"Definitely looks like rain," Harry nodded.

"I bet the Quidditch teams are glad the season is nearly over," Draco said.

"Stop ignoring me!" Blaise interrupted. "You're supposed to be imagining me wanking and overflowing with envious arousal!"

"Might even be snow," Pansy spoke over him. "I wouldn't mind if it snowed."

"I hate the snow," Potter's nose wrinkled. "I would prefer rain."

"I like the snow," Draco frowned.

"Stop ignoring me wanking!" At Blaise's outburst, several heads snapped in their direction, along with a furious shushing from an out-of-sight Madam Pince. The other three all laughed quietly as Blaise flushed. "You prats," he muttered.

"Careful, Blaise," Draco grinned, "or you'll be thrown out of the library for wanking. Wouldn't that be a fun story for the entire school to talk about?"

Blaise muttered something beneath his breath, something that Draco suspected to be unflattering.

"Speaking of wankers," Pansy said cheerfully, nodding her head in the direction of the library entrance, "look who it is, Potter. Your sidekicks have arrived."

Sparing a quick frown for Pansy, Harry looked over to watch Granger and Weasley enter the library and begin making their way to Granger's usual table, which seemed to always be left open just for her. Before they could reach it, however, Pansy was calling out to them.

"Hey! Gryffindors!" she said as loudly as she dared. Both Gryffindors automatically glanced in her direction and Draco wanted to snort. Slowing, they both appeared hesitant as they made their way over to the four of them. "Come take a seat, darlings," Pansy said, gesturing to the empty seats remaining.

"Er…" Weasley said uselessly, making Draco roll his eyes at the inarticulate prat. Why the hell had Pansy invited the gits to sit with them? But then he looked over at Harry, who was smiling softly at Pansy, and Draco wanted to roll his eyes at himself for how the sight of that smile made his insides melt just a bit.

"Yes, take a seat," the blond sighed heavily. "Maybe your presence will be enough to make Blaise stop insisting on wanking in front of all of us."

At the statement, Weasley's eyes widened in alarm. "I don't think so—" he began, but Pansy cut him off.

"You can sit here by me, Granger," she said, pulling out the seat next to her. "After all, our bosoms are now close friends, if you'll recall, and I would so hate to see such close friends kept apart."

"Your tits are not impressive enough to have either friends or a personality," Draco reminded her, regretting his helpful reminder as she kicked him in the shin with a sweet smile.

"Keep talking badly about my tits, darling, and I won't be held responsible for their retribution," she warned.

The threat made Draco shrink back. "Harry," he whined. "Her tits are threatening me again!"

"Yes, Potter," Blaise smirked, "please defeat the evil tits in the most heroic way possible."

"Yes, Potter," Pansy smirked, "please do."

"Er," Harry flushed slightly, "I think I'm good over here, actually, away from the dangerous tits."

"Yes, I imagine you are," Pansy's smirk widened. "Even the good tits are enough to frighten you away, aren't they?"

"Yes," Draco agreed, "let alone the bad tits."

Pansy glared. "Granger, do it."

Granger sighed loudly. "For the last time, Parkinson, I am not hexing walrus tusks on anybody for you."

"Then do it for all womankind!" she insisted. "He just insulted tits, Granger! Tits! _Our_ tits!"

"I think it was just _your_ tits, Pans," Blaise grinned. "I doubt Draco's ever noticed Granger's tits. He's too busy noticing Potter's."

"I don't have tits, you twat!" Harry said in outrage.

"Eh," Blaise shrugged, "maybe not, but they're still better than Pansy's."

Pansy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Granger, _do it!_"

"Did you lot call us over here just to listen to you talk about tits?" Weasley cut in. "Because I really don't want to be here for that."

"You know, Weasley," Pansy said in amusement, "before our little drinking adventure, I never would have figured you for such a fucking prude."

"What?" he squawked. "I am not a prude! Just because I don't want to think about any of your weird tits doesn't make me a prude! It makes me normal! I don't even like hearing you lot say the word 'tit'!"

"Hence," Pansy said smoothly, "a prude. Potter talks about tits with us all the time."

"Yes, but not by choice," Harry said dryly.

"Oh, you love it," Pansy said, casually waving one hand.

"He only loves tits if they belong to Draco," Blaise grinned. "Draco's tits are the only tits that do it for him."

"You two are the only tits I have," Draco countered. "My sad wanking tits. You two are a sadder pair of tits than the ones on Pansy's chest."

Beside him, Harry laughed.

"Fucking hell," Weasley muttered. "Have any of you lot ever had a conversation that wasn't centered around bits?"

"Probably," Blaise shrugged, "but those conversations are hardly worth remembering now, are they?"

"Just sit down already, Weasley," Pansy sighed. "Anyone might think you couldn't stand to be around us."

He stared at her incredulously. "I—"

"Just sit down, Weasley," Blaise interrupted. "For Potter's sake if not for ours. Potter's sake is the reason we called you over here, so just take a seat for his sake already."

With a contemplative look, Weasley glanced at Harry before nodding to himself and sinking stiffly into the most distant seat at the table. "But," he said, holding up one finger in warning, "I don't want anyone here talking about Hermione's tits. Or about mine."

The three Slytherins all stared at him before laughing. "You assume yours are even worth mentioning," Pansy chuckled. "Or thinking about. Or in any way acknowledging."

"Hey, I have good tits!" he defended. "I have great tits!" The Slytherins laughed even harder.

"Oh, Granger," Pansy chortled, wiping a pretend tear from her eye, "you should rent him out for parties."

"I have better tits than yours," Weasley muttered, shooting Pansy a stinging look.

Her look of amusement melted into outrage. "You lying tit-less berk!" she huffed. "Granger, control his lies, please!"

"Why do you always expect Hermione to be the one in charge of us?" Harry asked, lips tilted in a smile.

"For the same reason I'm in charge of these two poor sods," Pansy said with a jerk of her head toward Blaise and Draco. "Greater life knowledge and obvious gender superiority."

"Gender superiority?" Weasley snorted. "Oh please." At that, Granger gave him a quailing look, and Draco grinned as Weasley shrank back slightly.

"Misogyny and tit envy noted, Weasley," said Pansy. "Ta for sharing."

"Why the hell are we even sat here?" Weasley grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Because you love Potter and Potter loves us," Blaise shrugged. "Simple maths, really."

"Yes, you both read his interview," Pansy said smugly. "Potter adores us. He adores us so much he publicly announced that adoration to the entire world in the _Daily_ fucking _Prophet_. That's genuine love is what that is."

"Or genuine pity," Weasley said beneath his breath.

"Is that what inspires all his friendships then?" Draco asked sympathetically. "Pity? Because that is certainly understandable for at least one person sat here. But then, I'm sure that person is quite used to pity at this point in his life. Lord knows his life is pathetic enough to warrant more than an individual's fair share of pity."

Weasley narrowed his eyes. "Yes, a relationship driven out of pity really is quite sad, isn't it, Malfoy?"

Draco narrowed his eyes right back. "You think what Potter did to me last night was driven out of pity, Weasley? Because I can assure you, he enjoyed it every bit as much as I did. Do you really think Harry's the type of person to suck someone off out of pity?"

Beside him, Harry flushed bright red. "Draco!" he hissed.

"What, Harry?" Draco said innocently. "You and I both know it wasn't pity that made you put my dick in your mouth."

"Gross, Malfoy!" Weasley complained, nose wrinkling.

"What?" Draco shrugged unrepentantly. "Harry's the one who did it. My dick just happened to be there. In his mouth. Getting sucked. After he put it there."

"Draco!" Potter warned.

"And then he thanked me for the honor," Draco finished smugly. "Did I ever tell you how good Harry is at swallowing, Weasley?"

"Oh my god, Draco," Potter said in a mortified voice. "Please, for the love of God, I am begging you to stop."

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling," Draco said in mock surprise, "did you want to be the one to tell him just how much you like sucking me off? By all means, please do so."

"Seriously, Hermione," Weasley grumbled as he turned to her, "why the hell are we sitting here with them?"

"I am two seconds away from taking Hermione and sitting with her at another table," Harry threatened everyone.

"But, darling," Draco said in confusion, "my cock is at this table. And we all know how much you love being as close to it as possible."

"I have to give him ten points, Potter," Pansy grinned. "For sheer cheek, if nothing else."

"What the hell is with the points thing anyway?" Weasley demanded, looking between the three Slytherins. "I keep hearing you lot award points based on how much of an arsehole you're being at the time. What the hell does that even mean?"

Blaise gave him a flat look. "Are you saying that the idea of a points system is an entirely new concept for you, Weasley?"

Weasley shot him a dirty look.

"Careful, or you face might just freeze that way," Blaise said lightly. "And I doubt Granger wants that to happen. She's already trying her hardest to work with your face the way it is now, bless her."

"Blaise," Harry warned. "_Two seconds_."

"Oh fine," Blaise sighed heavily. "I apologize, Weasley, I'm sure that Granger has found a way to love and appreciate your face just the way it is, bless her even more. There, Potter, happy?"

Harry stared at him. "I don't care what the rules are, I'm taking fifty points away from you."

"You can try," Blaise grinned. "But that is one rule that even you are unable to break, my friend."

"I will do another interview," Harry threatened, "so help me god. A very unflattering interview."

"Oooh, going straight to the serious threats now, isn't he?"

"God, you lot are such pricks," Weasley muttered.

"But we're lovely pricks," Blaise said sweetly.

"Potter's lovely pricks," Pansy added.

Harry shook his head as a laugh escaped him. "I'm taking points away from you too, Parkinson."

"Not how it works, darling," she sang, snapping her magazine back open. "You love your pricks too much to deduct points from them and you know it."

Weasley exhaled heavily through his nose. "Can you lot please stop talking about Harry's pricks?"

"Hairy pricks?" Blaise asked in confusion. "What a strange and unexpected topic of conversation from you, Weasley. But if you insist, we shall try our hardest to discuss them."

"Not a fan," Pansy said immediately. "Draco?"

Draco smirked. "Harry's prick is as hairy as I like my pricks."

"Yes," Blaise nodded thoughtfully, "I would imagine that Harry does have quite a Harry prick."

"I would ask Blaise for his opinion on them," Pansy grinned wickedly, "but we all know that he's a prickless prick who's never pulled a single thing with a prick, so he's hardly the expert here."

Blaise snorted. "I thought I was a knobless knob," he said dryly, slanting Pansy an exasperated look.

"Well, yes," she shrugged. "The difference being…?"

"Ha, eunuch!" Draco cackled, pointing one pale finger at Blaise. "Pansy just called you a eunuch, if you didn't catch that."

"I can refute the horrid accusation right here, if you would like," Blaise said in a wry voice. "Just ask Theo how easy it is to expose yourself to a group of unsuspecting students." He paused to shoot a look of amusement around the table. "And really, you two can't have it both ways. First I'm a wanker, then I'm a eunuch? How talented do you lot really think I am?"

"More like how lacking we think you really are," Pansy grinned.

"We're getting sidetracked," Draco interrupted.

"From what?" Blaise wondered. "What's more important than talking about my very existent and very extremely enormous prick?"

"_You _are a very existent and very extremely enormous prick," Pansy said immediately.

"You missed a 'have' in that sentence somewhere, darling," Blaise disagreed. "Try again."

"Still getting sidetracked," Draco reminded them, waving one hand to capture their attention.

"Sidetracked from what?" Harry wondered, sounding amused.

"From all the hairy pricks we were discussing," Draco smirked. "We were just getting to you, Harry."

"Yes, Potter," Pansy sniggered, "hairy pricks. Opinions. Do tell."

Harry grinned. "I prefer Draco pricks," he said lightly, grin widening as Pansy and Blaise laughed.

"Pricks as in multiple?" Blaise asked, flicking his wand in a silencing spell as they received another vicious shushing from the giant bat masquerading as a school librarian.

"Yes, how many are we talking here, Potter?" Pansy leaned forward. "Four? Five? A hundred?"

"I'm not covered in pricks, you daft cow," Draco argued, shuddering at the mental image of a person sprouting a hundred floppy penises all over their body. Good lord that was a terrifying thought.

"Yes, Pansy," Blaise chuckled, "that's not what he's covered in."

Draco glared. "Is that supposed to be some weak spunk joke?"

Blaise shrugged. "Perhaps. But I personally always thought Potter's spunk was stronger than that. Isn't it meant to be some sort of hero spunk or something? Spunk of Champions, yeah?"

"Can we please stop talking about penises and my best friend's ejaculate?" Granger cut in, and everybody turned to her in surprise, falling into silence for several seconds before the entire table burst into laughter, and Draco was glad that Blaise had already cast a silencing spell.

"Oh, Granger!" Pansy chortled, dropping her head onto Blaise's shoulder as she giggled uncontrollably. "Oh, that will never get old! I'm seriously considering buying a Pensieve just for the purpose of collecting every single memory I have of you ever saying the word 'penis', just so I have something to cheer me up when I get sad."

"And now we have the added bonus of hearing you say 'ejaculate'," Blaise added, gasping for breath as he used Pansy to hold himself upright as he laughed. "You filthy little minx, you."

"I second the filthy part," Pansy said, pushing away from Blaise to sit up and grin at Granger. "It's a surprising turn-on to hear you say words like 'penis' and 'ejaculate'. Makes me want to hear even filthier things come out of your mouth, like 'coitus' or 'vagina'. Oh, Granger, please say 'vagina'!"

"I am not saying—" Granger clamped her lips shut in time, face reddening as the table laughed.

"Oh damn," Pansy sighed, still snickering. "She's onto us and our sneaky ways."

"Sneaky, sure," Harry chuckled. "You lot are the least subtle people I think we've ever met."

"I'll give the first person able to get Granger to say 'vagina' a Galleon," Blaise grinned. "Or Potter. I think I would like hearing you say that word as well, Potter."

"What if I say it?" Weasley cut in, head tilted as he stared at Blaise. "Will I get the Galleon?"

Blaise studied him for a moment. "No, I really don't think I want to hear _you_ say it, Weasley, sorry."

"Yes, that might just be more traumatizing than amusing," Pansy said. "Even though it would be a comfort to know that you're able to let go of your prudishness on occasion in order to say such words."

"Vagina," Potter deadpanned, staring at Blaise with a flat look. He held out one hand to the dark-skinned boy. "Now give me a Galleon."

Blaise sighed and shook his head. "That wasn't the deal, Potter. I said I would give it to anyone who could _make_ you say it."

"Yes," Harry nodded, "and _I _made me say it. You never specified that it had to be someone other than ourselves."

Pansy laughed. "Logic, Blaise. Give the man a Galleon."

"You dirty shameless hustler, Potter," Blaise drawled. "I'll have to owe it to you if you insist, you improper little ruffian."

"That's fine, Zabini," Harry grinned. "You pay up whenever you're ready. I'm a patient man, I can wait."

"Sure, he says that now," Pansy cackled, "and next thing you know, you're pregnant. Right, Draco?"

Everyone stared at her.

"What?" Draco finally asked. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"I dunno," she mused, tapping her chin in thought. "In my mind, that made a lot more sense."

"I can only imagine what else makes sense in your mind," Draco muttered. "Your tiny perverse flamingo mind full of horrifying and frightening things."

"You do know that men can't get pregnant, right, Pans?" Blaise asked in mock concern, turning in his chair to face her fully.

She huffed. "Well, since _I _am the resident expert on men, of course I do. Unless I was implying that Draco has a secret fanny hidden somewhere."

Draco stared at her. "I'm pretty sure you would have noticed if I had a fanny while my dick was in your mouth, Pansy. I imagine it would be quite hard to hide a minge when you were face-to-face with my enormous manly cock staring right at you."

She snorted loudly. "I'm sorry, your what kind of cock?"

"Enormous and manly," he repeated firmly.

"Not quite the adjectives I've used to describe it," she said in a pitying voice. "More like adolescent and frail. Although, I am willing to grant it points for enthusiasm, so, you know, there's that, at least."

Draco's mouth dropped open in outrage. "Harry!" he turned to the brunet. "Tell her how overwhelmingly manly and obscenely large it is!"

"Wrong," Blaise interrupted. "I've lived next to it for years and have seen it way more times than Potter ever has, and I have to second Pansy's description."

"Then stop looking at it, you filthy degenerate," Draco snapped. "How dare you ogle my massive cock with your greedy perverse little eyes and then insult it with lies and dishonesty!"

"Yeah, I second Draco's request you stop looking at it," Harry added with a frown.

"Can I request that everyone stop talking about it?" Weasley cut in, and everybody turned to him in surprise. Draco had forgotten the prat was even there.

"We can try," Draco sniffed, "although, it is terribly interesting and terribly enormous and practically its own presence everywhere I go, so no promises. It's something you wouldn't understand with your tiny ginger knob."

"Ugh," Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I now second Weasley's request that we stop talking about knobs."

Blaise stared at her in surprise. "I've never known you to be unwilling to speak about knobs, Pans. Weasley, I think you've cured her of her sexual deviancy."

"I doubt it," Draco said, head tilted as he considered Pansy. "There's no curing that sort of terminal deviance in her. She's a lifer, I'm afraid, when it comes to degeneracy. Her immorality is unmatched."

Blaise cackled. "I bet Daphne could match it. Now _that _girl was a sexual deviant."

Draco frowned. "I bet her sister could match it even more. Do you remember the sorts of offers Astoria used to try to proposition me with?"

Harry frowned harder in response. "Astoria?"

"The youngest Greengrass," Blaise told him. "I'm not sure if you ever really knew her, she's in the year below ours. Pretty, blonde, complete sexual nutter. Used to have quite the obsession with Draco here."

At the reminder, Draco shuddered. "My god, though, the things she used to whisper she wanted me to do to her."

"Like what?" Harry's forehead wrinkled.

Draco shuddered again. "You don't even want to know, Potter, trust me."

Pansy laughed. "I thought she was a rather creative one, myself. I personally would never have thought of half the things she was always suggesting to Draco."

"Yeah, after cornering me and making escape impossible," he muttered. "The girl was nearly as bad as Theo!"

"Theo with a fanny," Blaise nodded. "Albeit, an attractive Theo with a fanny."

"_Urgh!_" Pansy scowled. "My god, Blaise, what a horrid thing to say. Fuck, now I'm picturing disgusting Theo with an even more disgusting fanny!"

"She doesn't still come onto you, does she?" Harry asked Draco in a worried voice.

Blaise grinned widely. "You're the only one coming on him, Potter, don't you worry."

Harry's cheeks pinkened as he rolled his eyes. "I said _onto_, Zabini."

"Yep, the only one spunking onto him," Blaise nodded. "And into him. And next to him."

Pansy copied Potter's eye roll. "Spunking is not a verb, Blaise."

"And how do you know I'm not the one spunking into him?" Draco interrupted, regretting his interruption when all eyes snapped onto him.

"First of all, Draco," Blaise began, lips twitching, "five points for the correct usage of the word 'spunking'. Second, we all know you're the one being fucked, love. It's fine. Just accept the sexual dynamics of your relationship already and we'll all be better off for it."

"Oh, sod off!" Draco glared, trying his hardest to ignore his flaming cheeks. "Just because nobody has ever thought that your body was good enough to stick anything into doesn't mean you can disparage other people for it!"

Blaise grinned and turned to Pansy in excitement. "Ha! Pay up, woman!"

Draco's glare sharpened. Had they seriously bet on whether or not he had topped Harry? How dare they! The perverts!

Pansy stared at him incredulously. "No, _you_ pay up, woman!"

Blaise stared back at her even more incredulously. "What do you mean _I _pay up? _You_ pay up!"

"No," she disagreed, "_you're_ the one who needs to pay up!"

"Do you not remember how betting works? I won that one! _You_ pay _me_!"

"No, _I _won! _You _pay _me!_"

"No, because I was the one who bet that Potter's arse virginity was still intact! So pay me, woman!"

"I was the one who bet he was still an arse virgin! I specifically remember saying on multiple occasions that Potter is not the sort to let himself get fucked! I would never bet on Potter letting himself get bummed by Draco!"

"No, because I was the one who said that Draco was the only one of the two of them allowing himself to get bummed! He is clearly bumming for Potter!"

"Stop lying, Blaise! Pay me my Galleon!"

"You pay me _my_ Galleon, you lying wench!"

Deciding the argument had gone on long enough and growing frustrated at the way the other two were ignoring his icy glare of death, Draco drew back both legs and went for the ultimate of shin-kicking techniques—the Double Prat Kick. It was a technique that he only saved for rare occasions, but a move that never failed to warm his heart.

"Ow!" they both cried together, casting twin glowers in his direction.

"Christ, Draco," Blaise said in a wounded voice. "All we did was bet on whether or not you had buggered Potter yet."

"Yeah, Draco," Pansy sniffed in an injured voice, "that's all we did. And then discuss it right in front of both you and him and also his prudish friends."

"Yeah, Draco," Blaise accused, "that's all we did. What sort of friend does that make you to punish us for it?"

The glare on his face was sharpening by the second; next to him, Harry's cheeks were bright crimson.

"Please stop betting on our sex life," he said in a mortified voice, closing his eyes and removing his glasses to rub his temples. "For the love of God, though."

"Well, I doubt God has very much to do with your sex life," Pansy said with a cheeky grin, and Draco began to doubt he had kicked her hard enough.

"Oh, you haven't heard them go at it if you think that's true," Blaise sniggered. "You've clearly never heard the way Draco screams the heavens down when Potter's bumming him."

"Please stop talking," Harry pleaded, hiding his face in Draco's shoulder, who was still trying his hardest to kill with the power of his glare. It would work eventually, he had no doubt.

"I second that," Weasley cut in, face green. "I am never making the mistake of letting you lot trick me into coming over here ever again."

Pansy laughed at the look on his face. "You know, I honestly have no idea what the three of you talk about on your own. Schoolwork? Teachers? I mean, what do you fill your conversations with if not things like this?"

"You mean the sordid details of your close friends' personal lives?" Harry asked dryly, and Blaise laughed.

"Exactly."

"Normal life things," Weasley responded, still looking sick. "Things that normal people talk about. We don't try our hardest to traumatize each other every five fucking seconds."

"As I said, no fun," Pansy said sadly. "We haven't even gotten to any of the really fun topics of conversation yet, either. We still need to discuss their—"

"Hermione," Weasley interrupted, "for the love of God, please can we go to a different table now? We did the obligatory friendship thing and sat with Harry and his group of perverts long enough, and now I'm begging you to go to our usual table with me. I'll even do my Charms homework without complaining if you get up with me right now and walk over there."

"Yes, let's go," she sighed, climbing to her feet. "I honestly have no idea how any of you get any studying done when you're always making bets and talking about private matters."

Blaise shrugged with a grin. "It's called balancing responsibility with fun. You know that you two have fun when you're around us."

"It's a statistical impossibility not to," Pansy nodded. "We know that you walk away from us thinking to yourselves 'wow, what charming and original people those three are. My god were we ever fools to dismiss them from our lives'."

Weasley stared at her. "Watch us walk away right now without thinking any of those words, Parkinson."

She shook her head in sympathy. "How hard it must be to be living so deeply in denial, you poor things."

"Yes, but when you're finally ready to admit such truths to yourselves, you know where to find us," Blaise said. "We're here whenever you two need a laugh."

Sparing one last incredulous look, Weasley turned and strode away, followed by an exasperated Granger.

Harry shook his head in reluctant amusement. "You three are impossible, you realize."

"Impossible not to love? I completely agree," Blaise said smoothly.

Harry just grinned. "Come on, Draco," he turned to the blond. "We should go too."

Draco raised one eyebrow. "To the empty dorm in the dungeons, you mean?"

Harry's grin widened. "That's exactly what I mean. Later, Zabini, Parkinson."

"No spunking on my side of the room," Blaise warned, earning an eye roll from the two boys.

"Sod off," Draco said lightly, rising to his feet and tugging Harry up with him. "And by that, I mean stay here for the next five hours or so, hmm?"

"Hmm, five whole hours, huh?" Pansy said in a sly voice, eyes raking over Draco and Harry. "Good for you two."

"Definitely beats Blaise's two and a half minutes he needed with Daphne," Draco snickered. "Poor girl."

"Lucky girl, you mean," Blaise said in an unaffected voice. "Just you wait 'til I'm the one spunking it up all over our dorm, Draco."

"And on that note, we left, you disgusting fucking sod," Draco responded, pulling Harry away with a disgusted sigh.

Grinning, Harry reached down to take Draco's hand as they made their way from the library, and Draco slanted him a genuine smile. "I think your friends are falling more and more in love with us every time we're together, you know," he told the Gryffindor.

"Oh, definitely," Harry laughed.

"Understandable. We're spectacular people."

"Thank you," Harry said unexpectedly. "For making the effort. I know that you lot still aren't necessarily getting along with one another, but I appreciate that you really are trying for me, Draco."

"Yes, well," he shrugged uncomfortably. "As I said, spectacular. So…yeah."

Harry smiled at him as he squeezed his hand. "Yeah," he said softly. "Spectacular."

* * *

"Harry," Draco murmured breathlessly, throwing his head back as Harry's tongue continued to trace patterns over his bare chest.

"You taste like expensive soap," Potter commented, licking above the waistband of Draco's trousers.

"Well, some of us shower."

"Hey, I shower," Harry grinned. "You act like showering isn't the first thing I do the second you summon me down here."

Draco chuckled. "Oooh, summon, Potter, I like that. I like having the power to summon you places."

"I don't much mind the summoning," Harry laughed.

"Can I summon you to take my trousers off already then?" Draco whined. Christ, why were they still half-dressed? They should have been naked already; Harry should already be inside Draco at this point.

"I think you're getting 'summoning' and 'ordering' confused," Potter said wryly.

"Well, whichever one gets you to finally undress me."

Harry smirked. "I've found that pleading works quite nicely."

"Yes, Potter, good idea," Draco smirked right back. "Feel free to plead for the chance to undress me."

"Not what I meant, you prat," Harry said in amusement.

"Insults are hardly the way to get into my pants, you realize."

"No, I imagine _this_ is the best way to get into your pants." With that, Harry wrenched open the fastenings to Draco's trousers, tugging the fabric down far enough to latch onto one exposed hipbone with his mouth. He bit and sucked at the skin there, refusing to let up until Draco was a squirming, panting mess.

"That's not what you should be focusing on down there!"

Harry looked up with a grin. "Oh, and what should I be focusing on?" As he spoke, he pulled at Draco's remaining clothing until his trousers and pants had been stripped from his body. "Should I be focusing on this?" He leaned forward to lick a stripe up Draco's cock. "Or this?" Without warning, he lifted Draco's legs and dragged his tongue across Draco's clenching hole.

"Oh, _fuck!" _Draco cried, back arching at the sensation. It had somehow become one of Harry's favorite pastimes to hold Draco down and fuck him with his tongue until Draco was practically sobbing with pleasure. And, if he was being honest with himself, it had become one of Draco's favorite pastimes, as well.

"We'll get there," Harry grinned, pressing a kiss to Draco's thigh. He shifted high enough to suck the tip of Draco's cock into his mouth before pulling back completely.

"Hey," Draco protested, the complaint dying on his lips as Harry reached over to fumble in the bedside cabinet for the bottle of lube they had been steadily working their way through. Sometimes they used spells, but Draco had noticed that Harry seemed to prefer prepping him himself when they had the time.

"Hey," Harry said with a soft smile, settling back between Draco's legs and pressing another kiss to his thigh as he coated the fingers of his right hand in lube. Shifting up, he bent down to kiss Draco at the same moment he slid one finger into the blond, and Draco felt his back arch slightly at the sensation. Harry took his time with one finger before gradually inserting another. He crooked them and grinned against Draco's mouth as a breathless groan escaped the Slytherin.

"Harry, just hurry already, please," Draco begged, and at the plea, Harry kissed Draco harder as he ground himself against Draco's thigh, who reached out to grasp at Harry's upper arm as the brunet inserted a third finger, twisting them gently. "Now, Harry, for fuck's sake!" Draco gasped as he squirmed at the feel of Potter's fingers dragging over his prostate.

"Calm down, it's happening," Harry smiled, pulling back and coating himself liberally with lubricant.

"Should I turn around?" Draco wondered, preparing to roll over, but Potter reached out to stop him.

"No," he said softly, eyes studying Draco's face, and Draco wondered what it was that the other boy saw. "Stay like this, Draco."

Unable to respond in the face of such an intense stare, Draco nodded, allowing himself to be rearranged as Harry spread Draco's legs wider before silently urging him to bend one knee. He pressed the bent leg into Draco's chest and lined himself up, leaning forward to press a kiss to Draco's mouth before slowly beginning to push his hips forward, and Draco felt the air rush from his lungs at the feeling of Harry filling him.

After what felt like both a second and a century of gentle thrusts and slight adjustments, Harry's hips were nestled snugly against Draco's bum, and the blond couldn't help but squirm at the feeling of Harry fully encased inside him. But as the feeling continued, Draco began to grow impatient.

"Are you going to fucking move already, Potter?" he exploded, wondering why the hell Harry liked to drag things out to such an obscene length of time. Really though, who the hell had ever taught Potter how to be such a bloody arse tease?

Harry grinned. "Just seeing how long it took before you got all demanding and bossy. You lasted nearly sixteen seconds, Draco. I think this is a new record for you, actually."

"Shut up," Draco laughed breathlessly, shaking his head at Potter's ridiculousness. "Just fucking fuck me already, Harry, for Christ's fucking sake."

"Such a filthy mouth you have," the brunet murmured, stealing a kiss from Draco before _finally_ beginning to move his hips.

"You love it," Draco murmured back, clutching at Harry's shoulders as he shifted his leg higher.

"I won't argue with that."

Humming, Draco wrapped himself more fully around the other boy, grateful when the brunet began to gradually increase his speed. Wanting him to move even faster, Draco reached down to grip Harry's waist tightly, urging him to speed up. Harry immediately complied, making Draco gasp as he lifted Draco's other leg to press his knee into his chest, the new position causing Harry to brush against that spot inside Draco that never failed to make Draco swear. Loudly.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, and Harry smiled into the kiss.

"If you insist." And with that, he began moving faster, thrusting harder, and Draco threw his head back with a sharp cry.

"Yes, like that, Harry, _fuck!"_

One hand trailed down Draco's chest and stomach before wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke, pausing now and then to give the head a gentle squeeze. Draco felt his muscles tensing as his mouth dropped open in a silent moan. "Don't stop, Harry," he pleaded, crying out at the sharp thrust Harry gave him in response.

Harry huffed some sort of response, but Draco was too far gone to hear what it was. He arched his back with a heavy groan as he felt himself spill over Harry's hand, drawing the groan out as Harry thrust back in twice more before slowing. God, Draco wasn't sure if it would ever not be hot to feel Harry come inside him like that but decided in the very next moment that he did not ever want to share that thought with another living person.

"Fuck, Draco," Harry panted, lowering Draco's legs before collapsing on his chest. "Fuck, that was perfect. You're so perfect."

"I won't argue with such truth," Draco smiled, reaching up to comb his fingers through Potter's disheveled hair.

Harry rolled his eyes in amusement. "This is where you return the compliment, you prat."

"Oh, was that a compliment?" Draco raised one eyebrow. "I thought you were simply stating well-known facts." Harry snorted. "But if your ego needs the stroking, Potter, I suppose you're pretty perfect as well."

"How sweet of you to say, Malfoy," Harry grinned.

"Well, now you're just being redundant with the facts, Potter. My sweetness is legendary."

Harry chuckled before fumbling in the blankets for his wand and casting several cleaning charms over the two of them. He snuggled back into Draco's side as he pressed several kisses to Draco's chest. "I love this, Draco. Being with you like this. I love you so much, you know."

The words made Draco instantly freeze as his good mood flew right out of the room. It was not the first or fourth or even fifth time that Harry had said those words to him, but every single time he did, the words made Draco freeze with a combination of panic and guilt, and he still had no idea how to respond to the statement. He still had no idea what Harry was expecting him to say; he still had no idea what he was expecting _himself_ to say. God, he still had no idea what—

"It's okay, Draco," Harry said quietly, resting his chin on Draco's chest to stare him in the eye. "Stop freaking out. It's okay if you don't feel the same way. I just want you to know how I feel about you."

"Harry…"

"I've never really had much experience with love before in my life," Harry continued, tracing squiggly patterns over Draco's stomach with one finger, "and it's something I've never really had the chance to express before. So I'm sorry if I say it too much and I'm sorry that I make you feel uncomfortable when I do say it. But it just…it feels nice, to be able to say those words to another person. Hermione was the first person I came out to and the only person before you that I've ever said 'I love you' to. But loving someone and being in love with someone is so different, and I love you so much that I can't help but want to keep saying it because I finally understand it and I'm finally now allowed to say it to another person, you know? But if it makes you feel uncomfortable, just tell me and I'll stop."

"…Harry…" Draco trailed off uncertainly. Should he say it back? He was pretty sure he felt it back. But did he even have the right to feel it back? Did he even have the right to say it back? What if saying it back only hurt Harry worse when the entire relationship exploded in their faces?

"It's okay, Draco," Harry promised, leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth. "Really." His words were comforting and his voice kind, but there was a tinge of sadness buried in his eyes that Draco did not like to see.

"Why do you have to be so fucking perfect all the time, Harry Potter?" Draco whispered, caressing Harry's face lightly with the tips of his fingers. "Don't you ever get tired of being so goddamned nice all the time? Don't you ever get tired of being so selfless and giving?"

Harry tilted his head in confusion. "Are you saying you want me to be less perfect and less nice and more selfish?"

At the question, Draco pulled away, shifting out from underneath the brunet and climbing from the bed before beginning to pull his scattered clothing on. "Maybe sometimes I do," he admitted in a low voice. "The precedent of kindness you set for those around you…" he sighed wearily, crossing over to the window and peering through the thick glass at the murky water of the lake. "You make it so impossible for anybody to ever be able to measure up to you, Potter. Especially someone like me, who…"

He heard the rustling sounds of Harry tugging on his own clothing behind him. "I don't understand what you're saying, Draco. Are you taking the piss or something?"

"No," he responded in a soft voice, "of course I'm not, Harry. I just…don't you ever worry about people taking advantage of you because you're _too_ kind?"

"Taking advantage?" The sound of footsteps was heard before Harry was suddenly at Draco's elbow, peering at him in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," Draco sighed. "Aren't you ever afraid that you're too nice and too willing to believe the best in a person and that such things leave you too open to be taken advantage of by others?"

Harry snorted. "I would like to think I'm a bit better than that at being able to tell when someone is trying to manipulate me, Draco."

The question made Draco's insides clench painfully at how wrong Harry was. And Harry had no bloody clue how wrong he really was.

"Where is this even coming from?"

"I'm not sure," Draco shrugged. "I've just been thinking."

"Well, that sounds ominous," Harry said cautiously. "Thinking about what?"

"Just…thinking."

"Okay, Draco, now you're officially scaring me," Harry said, reaching out to grasp Draco's shoulders and turn the blond to face him. "What does that mean? Are you—are you thinking about breaking up with me or something? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Draco shook his head, feeling the strands of his long platinum hair whip around and smack him in the face. "No, Harry! That's not what I'm saying! I mean, am I not allowed to think about things without it being a crisis?"

The hold on his shoulders loosened as Harry grinned. "Maybe I just find the idea of you thinking such a rare occurrence that I can't help but worry when it actually happens."

Draco snorted softly. "Git."

"But I'm a git who loves you," Harry returned, leaning forward to kiss him. "I'm not pressuring you to say it back, I just want you to know how I feel. So stop worrying already. I love you and things between us are fine and nobody is manipulating me. I'm used to it enough by now that I know when someone is trying to use me, all right?"

"All right," Draco murmured, kissing Harry in an attempt to stop his insides from churning with a boiling mix of unpleasant emotions. Harry was so blinded by love that he couldn't see what was right in front of his face—a lying Slytherin arsehole. And Draco couldn't tell him—he couldn't hurt him. He couldn't stand to ever see Harry look at him with hatred or disgust; he couldn't stand to ever see Harry's face crumple in disappointment and betrayal. But he was also not sure how much longer he could stomach his guilt; he had no idea how much longer he could continue to swallow back the rising bile of his shame.

He had no idea how much longer he could continue before cracking completely.

* * *

A/N: Only one more chapter before the truth is finally revealed! Hooray for the impending drama :)


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: In which food is thrown, inappropriate dinner topics are brought up, alcohol is once again consumed, and the author gets a bit carried away with the banter.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"For the last time, Zabini, _no_," Harry sighed, shaking his head at the dark-skinned berk seated across from him in the Great Hall.

"Oh come on!" Blaise wheedled, shooting Harry a look that Draco was certain he thought made him look pleading and contrite, but which really only made him look constipated and moronic. It was not a good look on a person. "Come on, Potter, it will only take a second! It'll be over before you know it! I'll be so quick you won't even know it happened!"

"Yeah," Harry responded wryly, "until it hits the papers."

"At which point you'll only be reminded of how much we mean to one another," the git continued, speaking as though as he had no awareness of just how git-like he currently sounded. "Come on, Harry, don't deny our natural charisma together."

"You have nothing together," Draco snapped, finally giving in to the urge to flick the mushiest pea he could find at the annoying sod. And when that pea missed the annoying sod, Draco had no choice but to find the second mushiest pea he could find and mush it just a bit more before flicking _that_ one at the sod, satisfied when it hit him. "Now stop assaulting him with your idiocy already."

"I am assaulting him with nothing but facts and charm," Blaise grinned, retaliating by launching a chunk of steak and kidney pie at the blond, who glowered as it struck him in the chin.

"Have you two ever gone a single meal without throwing food at each other?" Harry asked in amusement.

Blaise smirked and responded by breaking off a piece of crust from his pie and throwing it at Harry, who swatted it away with a grin. "Next time, Zabini, put a bit more effort into it."

Blaise raised one eyebrow. "Ooh, a challenge. Draco, your lover is a brave one, isn't he?"

"Don't you dare, Blaise," Draco warned, knowing that Blaise would indeed take those words as a challenge. "Stop harassing him and don't you dare cover him in anything disgusting."

"Well," Blaise sniggered, "I'm not sure if I could cover him with anything more disgusting than your spunk, so I really think I should be the one warning _you_ not to cover him in anything disgusting."

Harry rolled his eyes even as his cheeks reddened. "Have you two ever gone a single meal without talking about spunk and bits?"

"No," they both answered simultaneously, sharing a laugh at Harry's exasperation.

"You know that you would miss our conversations terribly if you and Draco ever broke up," Blaise told him. "We are your best and most favorite form of entertainment, Potter, and don't you dare try to deny it. We're the spark in your life and you fucking know it. So deal with it."

A reluctant chuckle slipped from Harry's mouth as he shook his head. "You're something all right, Zabini."

"Something you love and cherish and adore," Blaise nodded seriously. "Does that mean that your answer is now a yes?"

"No," Harry snorted. "My answer is still an unequivocal _never_."

"Never is a bit of a bold word, is it not?" Blaise smiled angelically. "I'm sure that once upon a time, both you and Draco never thought that you would ever be so nauseatingly desperate to suck each other off five times a day in the bedroom I sleep in, am I correct?"

Harry compensated for the flush in his cheeks by rolling his eyes in such an exaggerated movement that Draco was worried he might accidentally roll them straight out of his head, which would certainly be a shame, not to mention horrifying to witness. "I don't have to give in to warthog demands, you know."

Blaise's mouth fell open in outrage, the expression deepening as Draco laughed loudly at the comment.

"You are a bit of a demanding warthog, Blaise," a voice said above them, and they all glanced up to watch Pansy take a seat beside Blaise and begin serving herself dinner.

"Where have you been?" Draco asked curiously, noting the tiny smirk playing around Pansy's mouth and the slightly rumpled look to her hair and clothing.

"Never you mind," she said lightly, pointedly looking away from the other three and taking a bite of her dinner.

"You dirty slag," Blaise grinned, knocking shoulders with her. "Who was it?"

Pansy shot him an amused look. "You can't ask questions whilst you're already busy never minding, you know."

He snickered at her for a second before straightening with an offended look on his face. "Hey! If your reputation is back to the point where you're getting shagged by someone in this school, why aren't I getting shagged by someone in this school? My reputation was always way better than _yours_! You always got way more hate mail than I ever did, this isn't fair! Potter, do you see now why you have to say yes?!"

Harry stared at him.

"Pansy!" Blaise cried, gesturing to the smug girl sat to his right. "Pansy, Harry! Pansy Parkinson, the slag who tried to sell you to You-Know-Who in exchange for her own life and who has received more Howlers than I can count, is getting shagged when I'm not! And I will not stand for that! My principles simply will not allow it! Potter, I demand that you do your civic duty as guardian of the nation and hero to the people, not to mention your honor-bound duty to help your _best friend_, and say yes already, for god's sake! Pansy, Harry, _Pansy!_"

Harry burst out laughing. "It's not my job to get you laid, Blaise," he grinned. "I'm afraid you'll have to do that all on your own."

"What duty are you demanding he fill?" Pansy wondered, still smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes in the same exaggerated movement as earlier. "Blaise wants to take a picture of the two of us to sell to the _Daily Prophet_ so he can make money and apparently get shagged."

"Hey, I'll settle for getting just a blowjob out of it!" Blaise countered.

"Harry doesn't want to hear about your tiny cock, Blaise," Draco sighed in absent pity. "No matter how tiny and minuscule it is, there's simply no room for it at the dinner table."

Blaise glowered. "Well, now you're just asking for me to pull it out and prove you wrong."

"Do it," Draco challenged with a grin. "I won't stop you."

"You hear that, Harry?" Blaise said to the brunet. "Your boyfriend is trying to trick another man into showing him his giant enormous penis. That's sexual harassment is what that is. Your boyfriend is nothing but a filthy deviant."

"But I don't think any of that is what's actually happened though," Harry said with a shake of his head.

"Especially the giant enormous penis bit," Pansy added. "That's the biggest lie out of the whole heap of bollocks you just spewed."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You just wait, Pansy. I will go to Granger right now and charm her into teaching me that tusks spell, so help me god."

"That'll definitely work," Harry laughed. "Nobody's more charming to her than you, Zabini."

"I dare you to go over there right now and attempt to charm her in front of Weasley," Pansy smirked. "He is not a man famed for controlling his temper, you realize. I would give it about seven seconds before he hexes you."

"She'll be far too smitten with me to ever allow such a thing to happen," Blaise said with a careless wave of his hand.

"Only one way to find out which of us is right," said Pansy. "Potter, you know her best out of everyone. Your take?"

Harry tilted his head as he considered Blaise. "I think I would give it at least twelve seconds before Ron hexed Blaise."

"Then that would give me twelve seconds to make her fall in love with me and reveal the secret of the mysterious tusks spell," Blaise said with an annoyingly confident air. "Easy."

The other three simply shook their heads and sighed. "Nobody will ever be able to love you more than you love yourself, Zabini," Harry chuckled. "And the only thing I think you have in common with Hermione is the fact that you're both eighth years in the same school."

"And what did you and Draco have in common before you two hapless fools fell headfirst into love's waiting arms?" Blaise drawled sarcastically.

"A deep-seated fear of fannies?" Pansy guessed.

"I've seen one before, I'm not scared of them!" Harry defended. "They're just, you know…"

"Not as nice as knobs to look at?" Blaise guessed.

"Sure," Harry snickered. "Let's go with that one."

"I bet you would like to go with as many as you can, you dirty slag," Blaise grinned.

"No, he wouldn't," Draco cut in, "one is enough for him."

"One knob is never enough," Blaise disagreed in amusement, turning to Pansy. "Right, Pansy?"

"You realize, Zabini," Harry cut in, "that you're the only one here who has never tried one, right?"

The question made Blaise pause in consideration. "You know," he said in surprise, "I honestly had not realized that. I'm the only bloke who doesn't fancy knobs and the only one out of me and Pansy to not lust desperately after cock. You desperate cock-loving fiends, you."

"You're our token minge muncher," Draco smirked, the expression widening at the look of disgust that crossed both Harry's and Blaise's faces at the comment.

"Urgh," Blaise complained, "don't say it like _that_."

Draco raised one eyebrow. "How would you prefer it to be stated?"

"I dunno," Blaise shrugged. "How about the only one of us able to appreciate the naked female form?"

Pansy laughed. "I can tell you for a fact, Blaise, that I have appreciated my own naked female form many times."

The three boys stared at her in mixed silence before Harry snickered. "Did you really just call yourself a wanker, Parkinson?"

"Oh please," she smirked unapologetically, "as if it's some taboo secret that girls wank too. And I know for a fact that all you dirty sods have spent almost every night since second year wanking in secret in the dorms and hoping that nobody overhears you."

Draco felt a wicked grin slide across his face. "Not Blaise. He's never cared who overhears him."

"And not Draco," Blaise shot back. "He preferred to save that sort of thing for the Quidditch changing rooms." Draco flushed as the other three laughed.

"Five points to Blaise, I'm afraid, darling," Pansy said.

Draco glared. "Bollocks."

"Are usually on display to the majority of the Slytherin Quidditch team," Blaise finished smoothly, earning another round of laughter and five more points from Pansy.

"Don't worry, Draco," Harry grinned, bumping shoulders with the blond. "I like your bollocks."

"Yeah, in your mouth," Blaise grinned.

"Was that not already implied in my statement?" Harry asked in an innocent voice.

"You're both wrong, you utter prats," Draco glared. "Harry loves my bollocks. _Especially _in his mouth."

"And then you had to go and take it too far as always and spoil the fun for everyone," Blaise sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head as though attempting to shake a few mental images from his mind.

"I always have fun when my bollocks are in Harry's mouth," Draco said with a smirk. "Not as much fun as Harry, of course."

"Oh, of course," Harry snorted.

"You know," Blaise said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "we don't even need to take a picture together, Potter. I could probably just sell the _Prophet_ all your dirty secrets of what the two of you get up to in bed. I'm sure that would make me five times as much gold as a simple picture of the two of us."

"Sure," Pansy sniggered, "and then have to face the wrath of the Chosen One."

"I think it's more Draco's wrath you'd have to worry about," Harry told them, not appearing worried in the slightest that Blaise might really sell a story on him to the _Daily Prophet, _and Draco marveled at how strangely comfortable and oddly trusting the brunet was around the three Slytherins.

"Yes," Draco agreed, "and I'm clearly the more terrifying one out of the two of us. Fear me, Blaise. It's the best advice I can give to you."

"Yes, Draco," Blaise said sarcastically, "how utterly, utterly terrified we all are of you. You scary little six-stone albino monster, you."

"That's it," Draco growled, "you are getting your eyebrows hexed off tonight the second you fall asleep."

"Yeah," Blaise said with a laugh, making Draco want to growl again at how unscared of the blond stupid annoying Blaise seemed to be. "That will show me, Draco."

"It will certainly teach you a lesson," Draco sniffed. "Unfortunately, you won't be around to actually learn that lesson, since I also plan on murdering you immediately after hexing your eyebrows off. I only now mention hexing them off so you know beforehand how ridiculous you'll look at your own funeral."

"I'm sorry, Draco, but I can't understand a thing you're saying," Blaise said with an air of superiority that made Draco immediately start searching for more mushy peas to throw at him. "I don't speak hedgehog."

"But you are a warthog," Pansy pointed out. "I'm sure that all hogs have some way of communicating with one another, no matter the type of hog species."

Both boys responded by pelting her with peas.

"You lot are ridiculous," Harry chuckled. "What kind of animal am I?"

The three Slytherins traded a look before cracking up. "There was actually a bit of debate on that one," said Pansy.

"Yeah," Blaise cut in, "I suggested a wonderful, mysterious animal, but was ultimately overruled by these two unimaginative prats."

"Don't listen to him, Potter," Draco said dryly. "The wonderful mysterious animal he wanted to compare you to was a mole."

"A mole?" Harry said in indignation. "Why a bloody mole?"

"Because," Blaise shrugged. "They're blind, aren't they? And you're almost blind."

"I'm not blind!" Harry argued. "I don't have perfect eyes, but I can see almost relatively sort of okay!"

"Really?" Blaise said with a laugh. "Take off your glasses and let's find out how well you can really see."

In response, Harry grumbled something beneath his breath, making Blaise laugh harder.

"And Pansy wanted to compare you to a bat," Draco added, deepening the disgruntled look on Harry's face.

"A bat, Parkinson, really? Have you ever heard the sounds a bat makes? I am not a bloody bat! If anything, _you're_ the bat, because you're way more shrill than I am!"

"What?" she squawked shrilly, making the three boys laugh. "I am not shrill! Take that back right now, Potter!"

"You're the one who compared me to a bat in the first place," Harry pointed out. "Turnabout's fair play."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You just wait until I think of a creature worse than both a disgusting bat and a disgusting mole. And then you'll be in for it."

"Can't wait," Harry grinned. "But seriously, what animal am I?"

"A wolf, I believe, was what we ultimately decided on," Draco said. "Running around the countryside with your pack of Gryffindors and whatnot."

"I think we might have to change that, though," Pansy said thoughtfully. "That was before we knew how harmless he really is."

"That's actually an excellent point," Blaise mused. "Storybook Potter might be a wolf, but real-life Potter is about as threatening as wet toast."

"Oi, I can be threatening!" Harry protested. The three Slytherins laughed.

"How about a panda?" Blaise suggested. "They seem like they should be all threatening and dangerous, but they're ultimately harmless little balls of fluff who spend all day eating bamboo and harming nothing."

"I am not a panda," Harry grumbled, crossing his arms and giving Draco no choice but to laugh at him again.

"I like you as a panda," he grinned. "You're my sweet little Potter panda bear."

Harry crossed his arms tighter as he fought a reluctant smile. "Still makes me the most formidable animal out of all of us."

"Ooh, look at Potter with his casual usage of the word 'formidable'," Blaise laughed. "What a smart little panda bear you are, Potter."

"Oh please," Harry rolled his eyes, "that's not even an impressive word. Stop acting like my vocabulary is nonexistent."

"Ooh, nonexistent, Potter, what another good word for you!"

Harry responded by throwing a pea at him.

And since Draco was such an outstanding and supportive boyfriend, he also responded by throwing a pea at Blaise. Harry rewarded him with a grin; Blaise rewarded him by flicking pumpkin juice at his hair. Draco decided right then that he liked Harry more than Blaise, and he decided right then that he should inform Blaise of that. "This is why I like Harry more," he sniffed, combing the wet droplets from his hair with the fingers of one hand.

"Filthy lies," Blaise responded smoothly. "I am number one in all of your lives. But if that's the sort of thing you need to say aloud for Potter's sake, I'll allow you to get away with your deceit just this once, Draco."

Harry threw another pea at him. Blaise threw the same pea back at him.

"Are you lot seriously chucking food at each other?" a voice asked, and all four heads snapped up to find Weasley and Granger shaking their heads down at them.

"Blaise deserved it," Harry shrugged.

"Are all Gryffindors such shameful liars?" Blaise wondered, flicking a pea at Pansy and laughing as it bounced off her nose.

"Oi, you prat!" she snapped, throwing a bit of pie crust at his face. "What did you throw that at me for?"

"Because," Blaise said patiently, "you were the only one who had not had one thrown at them. It was for the sake of balance, Pans."

"Nothing about you is balanced," she shot back. "Worry about balancing yourself before you start trying to balance the things around you."

He raised one eyebrow at her. "Are you saying I should give up on trying to improve the world?"

She raised the same eyebrow back at him. "By throwing things at me?"

"If that's what it takes," he said solemnly. "Harry, please give her one of your inspirational hero speeches on selflessness in the face of public necessity."

A grin spread across Harry's face as he shook his head in amusement. "He's right, Parkinson, sometimes sacrifice is necessary."

"Shouldn't someone define the word 'selfless' for her first?" Weasley asked sarcastically.

Pansy threw a pea at him as Harry burst out laughing. "I will not have Gryffindors gang up on me like this," she declared, throwing a second pea at Harry. Idly, Draco wondered what they would start throwing once they ran out of peas; he pulled a bowl of roast potatoes closer to him just in case.

"Don't start throwing potatoes at one another," Granger sighed, and Draco scowled at her. Damn it, why did she have to be so bloody observant and give away his secret weapon?

"All's fair in war and all that, Hermione," Potter grinned. "Let Draco have his potatoes if it makes him feel safer."

With a subtle flick of his wand and a smirk on his face, Blaise levitated the bowl of potatoes out of Draco's reach, sniggering as the blond turned a glare onto the prat. "Potter's right, Draco. All's fair."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Granger, do it."

"For the last time!" she sighed in exasperation. "I am not hexing walrus tusks on anybody! Just go look the spell up yourselves if you're so desperate to see it used!"

"But why when it's so much easier to simply delegate?" Draco drawled. "I much prefer delegation over actual work, you realize."

"You mean like all the work you're putting on the poor house-elves who are going to have to clean up this mess after you?" Granger drawled right back, and Weasley shook his head.

"You lot better stop throwing food," he warned, "before she goes off on one of her lectures about house-elf rights and respecting the blasted things. Trust me, you don't want that to happen."

Harry grinned up at her. "You still carrying those spew badges around, Hermione?"

"Spew?" Draco asked, nose wrinkled in confusion. Whatever that was, it did not sound pleasant.

"You know it's not 'spew', Harry," she huffed. "You _know_ what it really is, and no, I don't currently have a badge on me. Although I might start carrying them around again if you four are going to continue to put more work on the poor elves."

"What the hell are you two even talking about?" Pansy demanded. "What does spewing have to do with elves?"

Weasley snorted. "Don't ask, Parkinson, you don't want to know."

"Are you carrying your spew around with you, Granger?" Blaise wondered. "Because I have to say if that's the case, well done on unpredictability. Are you walking around promoting spewing? Are you spewing on the elves? Is that the sort of kinky thing you're into?"

"Don't judge what some people are into, Blaise," Draco said lightly.

"And don't insult the only person here who knows how to hex walrus tusks on a person," Granger retorted with narrowed eyes.

"That is actually excellent life advice," Blaise nodded. "Draco, take notes."

Pansy snickered. "I'll give you a Galleon right now, Granger, if you really do hex tusks on one of these two idiots."

"I'll do it," Weasley said immediately. "Hermione, teach me the spell."

Granger stared around at everyone with a flat look on her face. "You know, I really am concerned at how unwilling everybody here is to actually go out and learn new spells for themselves."

"Again, Granger," Draco told her patiently, "delegation."

"Think of it as a chance to really empathize with the house-elves," Potter laughed.

"Ooh, 'empathize', Potter, another good word for you!" Blaise smirked. "Your vocabulary really has improved ever since you started spending so much regular time around the three of us."

"Yeah, Zabini," Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "like there was ever a chance in hell that I learned the word 'empathy' from any of you three."

Weasley sniggered.

"You know, Potter," Draco said, "if you hadn't included me in that, I would have awarded you five points for that one."

"Name one thing in your life you've ever felt true empathy toward, Draco," Blaise snorted.

"Myself," Draco shot back, "every single day I've had to spend around you." Harry and Pansy laughed, and Draco felt a smug expression cross his face. Even Weasley and Granger were smiling, albeit rather reluctantly. Draco felt sorry that they were so unable to allow themselves to openly express amusement, the poor things. How dull their lives must be with only themselves and their staunch lack of laughter to keep them company.

"Funny," Blaise returned, "that's exactly what your mum said to me about you the last I saw her."

Draco's mouth fell open in outrage as the others laughed. "You lying git! You haven't seen her in sodding years!"

"That you know about," Blaise smirked. "She's always very careful to be quiet when she sneaks out of our dorm in the morning."

Draco's mouth fell open even wider as the laughter around him grew louder. "Yeah, well at least _my _mum leaves them alive afterwards!"

This time it was Blaise who adopted a look of outrage as the others howled with laughter. Even Weasley was laughing.

"Ten points to Draco," Pansy awarded, still laughing.

"I second that," Harry grinned.

"Yield to the champion, Blaise," Draco smirked. "Twenty points for me and nothing but shame and defeat for the sad, sad warthog."

Pansy reached out to pat the other boy on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Blaise. I'm sure Draco's mum will comfort you through your defeat."

"I think _she _would be the one needing comfort after such a thing," Draco said.

Blaise threw a handful of roast potatoes at him.

"You four do realize that we're practically the last ones in the Hall, don't you?" Granger asked dryly, and Draco glanced around in surprise, noting that the girl was right. How did that always seem to happen? Damn, Draco really thought he was more observant than that. How did the Great Hall always seem to empty around them without any of them being aware of it?

"Well, look at that, Granger, you're right," Blaise said in surprise. "I suppose that's what true friendship does to the time. Are you coming back to the dorm with us, Harry?"

"Do come, Potter," Pansy smirked. "It's Friday night, after all."

Granger sighed loudly. "Does that mean you four intend to spend the entire night drinking?"

"I dunno," Pansy said slyly, "perhaps you'll just have to tag along and find out for yourself, Granger, won't you?"

"How much bloody alcohol do you lot have stored down in the dungeons?" Weasley asked in an incredulous voice.

"Again," Pansy responded, "you'll just have to tag along to find out."

"You know you two had fun the last time," Blaise said in an airy voice. "Don't try and deny it now, Granger."

"You say that as though it's possible not to have fun around us, darling," Pansy said with an innocent smile.

"Good point," Blaise nodded.

"It should be extra fun tonight," Draco spoke up, "because we plan to get Pansy pissed in order to get the secret of which unlucky bloke she's shagging out of her."

"And why are any of you assuming it's a bloke that's being shagged by me?" she smirked, laughing as Blaise and Weasley's gazes sharpened and grew speculative as they stared at her with rapt eyes.

"Because," Draco said with a roll of his eyes, "we know you, Pansy. And we know how high male bits take on your list of things you love."

"Shush, Draco," Blaise said, waving one hand in Draco's direction without looking away from Pansy. "Please tell me he's wrong, Pansy, and that you really have discovered an uncontrollable lust for minge."

"I can tell you which one I prefer, Zabini," Harry grinned.

"We already know which one you prefer," Blaise said sarcastically. "I even know how many times a day you prefer it."

"As many times as he can get it," Draco said with a smug smile.

"Yes, Draco, we know you're the world's easiest person," Blaise said in the same sarcastic voice. "But I do have to say that your insatiable sexual appetites have been making me quite a bit of gold recently, so silver linings, I suppose."

"Um, how?" Weasley wondered.

"Because," Blaise answered, "Draco pays me for the dorm room every time they want a bit of privacy. Which is extremely often, the randy bastards."

"And Blaise pays no one," Draco said sympathetically. "The poor sexually frustrated, untouched little warthog."

"Bollocks," Blaise argued.

Draco smirked. "Have not been touched by anything other than your own hand in years."

Beside him, Harry laughed. "Five points to Draco, Blaise."

"It has not been years!" Blaise protested. "And you are all ignoring the most important thing we should be talking about right now!" Turning to Pansy, he fixed her with a serious stare. "Pansy. We need an answer right now. Bird or bloke?"

She only grinned.

"If it was a bird she would have said by now," Draco pointed out. "She's only doing this to fuck with you and Weasley."

"Unless that expression means it was both at the same time, the dirty slag," Blaise mused. "All right, let's get back to the dorm right now. There are things I need to know."

"Like how shagging is done properly?" Pansy asked in a faux-sympathetic voice. "You poor thing. If you really don't know by now, I suppose I can tell you how it all works. You see, Blaise, when two people love each other very much—"

"Like anybody who hasn't shagged Daphne needs lessons," he interrupted with a shake of his head. "I already told you lot, the girl is a deviant. And don't even get me started on Draco's mum. The things she demanded I do to her, honestly."

"And yet," Draco retorted, "your mum is the more infamous shagger."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, you ferrety hedgehog," Blaise said, waving the insult away.

Weasley snorted.

"Are we going to the dorm then?" Pansy drawled, shaking her head at the two boys.

"Yes, let's do," Blaise agreed. "I have many secrets to pry from you tonight, my darling minge munching flamingo."

Harry chuckled. "I thought you said you didn't like that phrase?"

Blaise shrugged. "And yet on Pansy it just seems so appropriate."

"Only if she's really doing it," Draco pointed out, climbing to his feet and waiting for Harry.

"Well," Blaise smirked, "we'll find out shortly, won't we?"

"Are you two coming?" Harry asked the other two Gryffindors hopefully.

Granger hesitated, appearing torn between her desire to lead a boring unadventurous life and the naked hope on Harry's face.

"Don't disappoint him, Granger," Pansy said, linking her arm with the other girl's and beginning to pull her toward the double doors leading from the Great Hall. "All his best friends need to get along if you want him to be happy."

"Stay away from her minge, Pansy," Blaise said with a grin as he followed behind. "That minge is taken."

"Oh please," she said, turning her head to smirk at the dark-skinned boy. "As if Weasley doesn't love the idea."

"That depends on if I'd be invited or not," Weasley said with an unashamed shrug.

Draco snickered as he saw the back of Granger's neck turn red with embarrassment.

"Ew," Harry said, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Okay, I draw the line at you lot talking about Hermione like that. Leave her uncorrupted, please."

"We're only trying to make her more interesting," Blaise said unrepentantly. "Just let her be interesting, Potter."

"Oi!" Weasley defended. "She's already interesting!"

"How sweet are your Gryffindors, Granger," Pansy said in amusement, "rushing to defend you and your honor like that."

"We would do the same for you, Pans," Draco drawled, "if you actually had any honor left to defend."

Pansy turned a glare onto the others as they laughed. "Fuck off!"

"You realize that you're heading to _our_ dorm room, darling, don't you?" Blaise asked in amusement as they descended the staircase leading to the dungeons.

"Yep," she said, "so make sure that your attitudes fuck off before we get there."

"I'm sure that'll be happening any second now," Draco said solemnly, "just because you asked so politely."

Pansy shot him a two-finger salute over her shoulder, her other arm still linked with Granger's.

"Can I have my girlfriend back yet, Parkinson?" Weasley asked, sounding exasperated.

She turned her head toward him with a smirk. "It's not like I've kept her prisoner here or anything, Weasley."

Huffing, he reached out to tug on Granger's free arm, pulling her away from Pansy and tucking her into his side.

"So territorial and masculine, isn't he, Granger?" Pansy said, smirking even wider.

Weasley flushed slightly as he tightened his hold on Granger.

"Don't scare him away before we even get back to the dorm," Blaise said dryly.

Pansy grinned wickedly in response. "Trust me, darling, I haven't even started trying to scare either of them yet."

"Don't worry," Harry said to the other Gryffindors in amusement, "flamingos are harmless."

"And yet still more interesting than panda bears," she said airily, waving his comment away.

"Er, what?" Weasley asked in confusion. "Why are you lot always going on about weird animals?"

"Obviously because of what intriguing and unique individuals we are, Weasley," Blaise responded, linking arms with Pansy.

"Clearly," Weasley said in a dry voice.

"You know," Blaise sniffed, "I'm not sure if I really want to offer any of the alcohol that I bought with my own hard-earned money to someone so horrendously sarcastic."

At that, Harry snorted. "What do you mean 'hard-earned', Blaise?"

"Yeah," Draco added, "I'm pretty sure it was your mum doing all the hard-earning. It was definitely her doing all the heavy lifting."

"What about _your_ mum?" Blaise shot back. "Do I need to remind you about all the heavy lifting she does in our dorm room every night after you've fallen asleep?"

Draco grinned. "Yes, but none of that is actually real now, is it?"

"Only in his perverse little mind," Pansy said, patting Blaise on the head with her free hand. "Poor dear."

Blaise pulled away from Pansy to fold both arms over his chest. "Fine. Then next time your mum begs me for it, I shall have no choice but to wake you up first, Draco, just to bear witness. And then you'll be the one who's sorry."

"No," Draco smirked, "I think _you'll _be the one who's sorry when my father finds out about all your little jokes and delusions."

Harry laughed. "And what do you think he would do to you then, Zabini?"

At the question, Blaise shuddered. "I would prefer to never find out, actually. Your father is one scary albino, Draco." The comment earned a loud laugh from Weasley.

"Sod off!" Draco said in outrage. "For the last fucking time, we are not albinos!"

"You're also not _not_ albinos, are you?" Blaise replied, and Draco rolled his eyes in a gesture that he hoped Blaise would be offended by.

"At least I'm not a brainless twat like you," he declared.

"Yes," Blaise grinned, "as opposed to all the brainy twats in the world."

"Any twat is brainy compared to you," Draco muttered.

"You know," Harry cut in with a wide grin, "one day I'm going to count how many times you three use the words 'twat', 'minge', 'cock', and 'knob' in a twenty-four-hour period."

"Please do," Pansy said, returning the grin. "I would be interested in learning that myself."

"I suppose we'll just have to limit ourselves to the words 'wanker', 'bell-end', and 'cunt'," Blaise sighed. "Damn you and your proprietous reigns regarding politeness and public decency."

"Shouldn't someone define the words 'decency' and 'polite' for you first, Zabini? You know, before you try and use them in a sentence?" Weasley said sarcastically, earning a loud laugh from Harry.

"I hardly think you're one to talk," Blaise sniffed. "It's not as if you'll be able to score any points off us for all your supposed politeness, you know. We already decided last time that you were just as dickish, Weasley. More so, even, if we're being honest."

"As if you ever are," Weasley retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Just for that, Weasley," Blaise said smoothly, "you'll be getting the cheap vodka tonight. I hope you enjoy your wretched hangover tomorrow."

Weasley rolled his eyes again but made no comment.

All too soon, they arrived at the dungeons, and Draco took a moment to marvel at the fact that he was once again about to enter the Slytherin common room with the entirety of the Gryffindor Golden Trio in tow. If someone would have told him at the start of the year that in only a few months' time he would be stood where he was now, he would have laughed in their face. And then mocked them for their idiocy. And then snidely suggested a trip to the Hospital Wing to check for any recent brain damage.

And yet here he was.

The students scattered through the common room all glanced up as one, and Draco fought a smirk at the way their eyes all seemed to widen simultaneously at the sight of the three Gryffindors marching across the room beside the three most infamous Slytherins, despite the recent changes to their reputations. Draco wondered what everybody was thinking. He wondered if the other Slytherins were also getting an easier time of it as well now that his relationship with Harry was public knowledge. Would the fact that Harry Potter was now dating a Slytherin change how the entire nation viewed Slytherins as a whole?

"Hey," a soft voice said beside him, and Draco glanced over to find Harry eyeing him. "You okay?"

"Yes," Draco shrugged, shaking off his introspections, none of which he knew had anything resembling a simple answer. Life was far too convoluted to ever come with straight-forward answers to the million tangled questions clogging up Draco's mind. "Just thinking."

"Never a good sign," Harry smiled, but Draco could see something in his eyes that looked almost like worry.

"Oh, as if you're one to talk," Draco huffed, fighting a reluctant grin as Harry squeezed his hand.

"Well, children," Blaise announced, pushing the door to their dorm room open and sweeping one arm out dramatically. "Here we are!"

"Let's fucking drink," Draco declared, unfastening his school robes and throwing them over his trunk.

"About time," Pansy agreed, striding over to Blaise's wardrobe to pull a large unopened bottle of vodka from it. The clear liquid sloshed gently against the frosty glass of the bottle, a sound that Draco found to be oddly calming.

"Oi," Blaise protested, hurriedly shutting the wardrobe doors. "Don't just be going through my things like you own them."

"Why?" Pansy snorted. "Worried that we might just catch a glimpse of your jazz mags?"

"Sod off," Blaise retorted with a light flush. "You're just jealous because those birds have better tits than you."

"Well now _you_ can sod off," Pansy said with a glare. "If my tits are really so unimpressive, why do you feel the need to mention them every four seconds?"

Blaise gave her a sympathetic look. "For the same reason I'm always talking about how tiny Draco's knob is. Pity, Pansy, plain and simple."

"Well, Pansy and I pity your face," Draco sniffed, wishing he had a better comeback.

Blaise grinned. "Admiration and pity are not the same things, Draco. You really should go back to primary school if you're getting such simple words mixed up."

"His knob's not tiny," Harry protested belatedly.

Blaise's grin grew wider. "Your willingness to overlook penis size due to personal bias has been duly noted, Potter."

"I think I would know the size of his knob better than you," Harry rolled his eyes.

"But yet out of everyone in here," Blaise said, "I'm the only one to have ever lived with him. I think I know the size of his knob by now."

"So do half of us in here," Pansy smirked. "You may have slept in the same room as it for several years now, Blaise, but Harry and I are the only ones here who've actually touched it."

Draco returned the smirk. "And you are both so very welcome for the honor."

Pansy chuckled. "Yet I'm not sure if I ever actually thanked you for it, Draco."

"No," Draco agreed, "but I've always known how terribly impolite you are, Pans. It's something I was forced to accept long ago."

"Oh please," Pansy said sarcastically, "as if anybody has ever thanked a person for being allowed to touch somebody else's cock."

Draco's smirk widened. "Harry did. Still does, in fact, every time I allow it."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said in a voice even more sarcastic than Pansy's, a feat which Draco couldn't help but be impressed by. "Don't believe him, he's the one thanking _me_ every time I touch it."

Blaise laughed, Pansy snickered, and Draco glared.

"Can we please stop talking about Malfoy's knob already?" Weasley interrupted, sounding pained. "For the love of Merlin."

Draco shrugged. "Yes, I'm sure that even Merlin would have loved my knob as well, Weasley, you're right."

"Ew," Pansy said, nose wrinkling. "Okay, I agree with Weasley. Once we start talking about old beardy men loving your knob, Draco, we really have crossed a line."

Draco sighed. "I can't help it if my knob is simply irresistible, Pansy. You should know this more than anyone."

"I'm sorry," Weasley cut in, "did I not beg loudly enough for us to change the fucking subject?"

"Oh, were you wanting to beg?" Blaise said in feigned surprise. "By all means, Weasley, feel free to do so. We won't stop you."

Weasley rolled his eyes. "Just pour out the fucking shots, Zabini."

"An excellent idea!" Blaise beamed. "Finally, your usefulness is beginning to show."

Weasley muttered something beneath his breath, something that all of them ignored as Pansy set the vodka on the floor.

"Where are the shot glasses, darlings?" she asked, looking around. Blaise crossed over to pull them from his desk, casting a quick Cleaning Charm on them before beginning to hand them to Pansy one at a time.

"And did you remember to get the chaser?" she wondered, concentrating on pouring out shots without spilling.

"I have it," Draco said, crossing to his wardrobe to pull out the jug of pumpkin juice that he and Blaise had gotten during their last free period of the day. It was charmed to stay cold, the jug feeling like ice beneath his fingers. Blaise was already pulling out the goblets they had knicked from the Great Hall the last time they had gotten pissed, setting them down on the floor and gesturing for Draco to pour out the juice.

Sinking to the floor, Draco crossed his legs and smiled to himself as he felt Harry take a seat next to him, watching silently as Draco poured out enough for the six of them.

"So," Pansy said slyly, gesturing for the others to take a seat. "Shall we start same as last time?"

"Or Truth or Dare," Blaise suggested, snickering at the concerned looks that flashed across both Weasley's and Granger's faces.

"No thanks," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "I've already heard quite enough about the sorts of Truth or Dare games you lot used to get up to."

"That wasn't us," Blaise protested. "That was just Theo that ruined it all by being a dirty pervert."

Harry raised both eyebrows at him. "And that's different from you how?"

"Ha, pervert!" Pansy sniggered. "Potter thinks you're a dirty pervert."

"That's it, Potter," Blaise groused, "prepare to have all your dirty sex secrets sold to the _Daily Prophet_. I hope you look forward to reading about what a degenerate you are in the morning edition."

At the statement, Weasley automatically bristled, but Harry only laughed. "If you do, Blaise," he grinned, "I'll be forced to speak publicly about how sad it is that you haven't been able to find anyone willing to shag you since Daphne left school an entire century ago. You're just jealous that I'm sexually active."

"I'll show you sexually active," Blaise grumbled, making Draco frown.

"I think Harry and I would both prefer if you didn't."

"Especially Harry," Potter added. "Like seriously, Blaise, _especially _Harry."

Blaise huffed. "Stop acting as though you don't fancy me, Potter. All bent blokes do."

"Don't make me take points away from you for lying," Harry grinned. "We're all friends here, Blaise, let's just be honest with each other."

Blaise huffed even louder. "Your boyfriend's denial is far more wearing than charming, Draco, I have no idea how you put up with it."

Pansy snorted. "I think it's _your_ denial, Blaise, that's the wearing one."

"Are we going to drink or what?" Weasley interrupted, sounding exasperated. "Why do we even have to play a game?"

"Oh fine," Pansy relented. "You impatient killer of fun, let's just take the shot."

Weasley frowned at her but obediently clinked glasses with everyone before tossing back the shot, and Draco wanted to laugh at the redhead's grimace if he wasn't already busy gulping down a mouthful of juice.

Pansy grinned around the circle. "If you lot don't want to play a game, we can just have a drinking contest instead."

"Don't," Blaise said immediately, looking to Harry and Weasley in warning. "Seriously. She will drink you boys under the bloody table. It's not worth your life to get into a drinking competition with this one, trust me."

"Spoil all my fun, why don't you," she pouted.

"I'll believe you on that, Zabini," Weasley said, "I've seen her arm wrestle, after all."

"The girl is a beast," Blaise said with a fond smile.

Pansy snorted. "Am I a beast, or is everybody around me simply weak?"

"The first one," Draco told her, snatching the vodka bottle and pouring out more shots for everyone.

"Definitely the first one," Harry agreed.

"Definitely, definitely the first one," Blaise nodded. "I triple what Hraco has said."

Draco turned to him with one eyebrow raised. "Hraco?"

"Harry and Draco," Blaise shrugged. "What else would you be called?"

"There has to be a better name than Hraco," Harry protested. "That sounds like some sort of horrid type of toilet cleaner."

Weasley laughed. "And you don't think that's an accurate portrayal of your relationship?"

"Better than being called Hermon or whatever _you _two would be called," Draco sniffed. "Assuming that anybody even cared enough about your relationship to give you a joint name."

"I like Hermon," Harry chuckled.

"Seconded," Pansy chimed in, lifting her glass in a toast. "You two are now Hermon. Live with it."

Weasley rolled his eyes but added his shot to the group cheers, the six glasses clinking sharply together before the shots were swallowed.

"Hermon is an awful name," Granger complained, cheeks pink from the burn of the alcohol.

"And Hraco isn't?" Potter asked pointedly.

"Oi, we didn't give you that daft name!" Weasley protested.

"True," the brunet grinned, "but I like Hermon."

"Seconded again," Pansy said, shooting Granger a grin. "Sorry, darlings, but you're now known as Hermon."

"And nothing else," Blaise added.

"Ever again," Draco added.

"What would that make Pansy and Blaise?" Harry wondered. "They need a joint name too if only to stop them from feeling sad and left out. I know how emotionally needy they both are."

"Hey!" they both cried, sounding equally outraged.

Draco scrunched up his nose in thought. "Hmm, maybe Plaise? Or Blansy?"

"Blansy," Harry said immediately. "Yes. That one."

"How very dare you," Blaise glared. "We deserve a better name than that!"

"Too bloody right," Pansy agreed. "Blaise and I aren't even a couple and yet we're still the best couple here. We deserve to have the best name. A proper good one. Try again. And this time, let's put a bit more effort into it."

"I dunno," Harry said cheerfully, mock saluting them with his empty shot glass, "I think Blansy sums you two up pretty well."

Pansy glared. "You are a right twat, Harry Potter."

Harry grinned at her. "Yes, but you knew that about me way before you invited me down here to drink all your alcohol."

"Speaking of…" Blaise hinted, nudging Pansy with one foot, who sighed before reaching for the vodka and pouring out more shots.

"How pissed are you lot planning on getting tonight?" Weasley wondered, watching as Pansy slid his shot over to him.

"Extremely," Blaise responded, giving the two Gryffindors a challenging look. "Why? Is this your way of bowing out already? I must say, Weasley, I had expected more fortitude from you."

"I'm not bowing out," Weasley protested, picking up his shot glass in proof. "I was just asking a bloody question."

"We all know what you're doing, Weasley," Blaise said calmly, picking up his own glass. "This is just your transparent attempt to wrangle your way into having another slumber party with us."

"Yeah fucking right!" Weasley said immediately, a red flush spreading across the tips of his ears.

Pansy laughed. "Well, then, darling, we'll just be sure to throw you out on your drunken arse at the end of the night. No problem."

"Yes," Draco drawled, leaning his shoulder against Harry, "I hope you two enjoy hiking all the way up to the ground floor before then hiking up seven more sodding flights of stairs when you're pissed. They do move, though, and some of them vanish, so do be sure to watch your step."

"Your drunken inebriated step," Pansy smirked.

"Do be sure to watch out for the trick stairs as well," Blaise added. "Those would be a bitch and a half to get stuck in when you're sloshed."

"And try not to trip over Mrs. Norris," Draco said with an innocent smile. "That would be just awful for Filch to catch you roaming around the halls completely off your trolley."

"All right, point made," Weasley grumbled. "For fuck's sake."

Blaise frowned at him. "You need to drink more, Weasley. You're still far too much of a dick at the moment."

"Oi!" Weasley protested, but everyone was already raising their glasses.

The vodka burned sliding down his throat, but with every shot they took, the easier it became to swallow. Draco smiled to himself around a mouthful of pumpkin juice, feeling unexpectedly grateful and sentimental as he gazed around at the odd grouping of unlikely people gathered in his dorm room. He loved the people in his life. Hell, he was even glad that Granger and Weasley were there. Sort of. Maybe. His nose scrunched as he thought. Well, sometimes. For a moment or two. At least until Weasley ruined it all by opening his mouth and reminding everyone that he was still there.

He leaned more heavily into Harry, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer into his side.

"I'm glad you're here," he murmured into Harry's ear, earning a smile.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he said simply, and Draco could hear the honesty in his voice.

Smiling, he rested his head against Harry's shoulder, feeling warm and content and safe, and wondering what he had ever done right in his life to deserve the sight of Harry gazing at him in such a way.

Lord, Draco loved the prat.

* * *

"I really thought they'd be made of sterner stuff," Draco drawled, ignoring the slurring he could hear in his words.

"I know, right?" Blaise agreed, shaking his head at the Gryffindors with a huff of amusement. Weasley and Granger were sprawled across the floor, both fast asleep, their empty shot glasses nowhere in sight. Draco wondered idly what happened to them before deciding he didn't care.

"And that one as well," Harry yawned, gesturing to Pansy, who had fallen asleep with her head on Blaise's lap.

Blaise glanced down at her with a fond smile tugging at his lips, combing his fingers gently through her dark hair. "I think she's just tired. She usually lasts much longer than this."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, "she's usually bloody annoying about it too. She's usually the one up 'til dawn trying to get the rest of us to keep taking shots with her well after the sun has already come out."

"I suppose she has been out shagging some mysterious bloke all afternoon," Harry reasoned, sliding down to rest his head in Draco's lap in a mirror copy of Pansy. He smiled in pleased contentment as Draco copied Blaise and began to comb his fingers through Harry's hair, scratching lightly over his scalp.

At Harry's words, a frown crossed Blaise's face and his movements faltered for a moment before he swept the hair from Pansy's cheek and tucked it behind one ear. "I suppose we should all go to bed then," he said quietly, glancing around the room.

"Yes," Harry groaned. "God, yes."

Draco sighed. "I suppose your band of Gryffindors really will be spending the night again. Without even offering to pay us rent or anything."

Harry snorted. "I'm sure they're just waiting 'til morning to offer."

Sighing again, Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at the Gryffindors, casting a careful Cushioning Charm on the floor beneath them. He knew from firsthand experience how unfun it was to pass out on a hard floor after a night of drinking.

Turning back to Harry, he was surprised by the look in the other boy's eyes. Harry was gazing at him with an oddly focused look, soft yet fierce, his eyes much sharper than Draco had been expecting at such a time of night and after consuming so much alcohol.

"No," Blaise interrupted out of nowhere, frowning at the two boys. "I know what that look sodding means. I don't care how many kind gestures Draco does for your friends, Potter, you are not to engage in any illicit behavior in this room with this many people around. This room is off-limits for your deviant kinkery whilst I am inside it, do I make myself clear?"

"Jealous much, Zabini?" Harry smirked, and Draco tried to smirk as well through a stomach full of butterflies.

Blaise rolled his eyes, clutching at his head in the next second as he swayed with the motion. "You wish," he said weakly.

"Just go bed, Blaise," Draco sighed.

"What are you doing with that one?" Harry asked, nodding down to Pansy.

Blaise frowned down at the head in his lap. "I suppose she can have my bed then, the wench."

"Good man," Draco slurred, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. Harry copied him, falling over only twice before finally succeeding in standing. "You put her to bed and Transfigure yourself something nice. I need the loo." Turning, he stumbled his way out the door and to the bathroom, hearing Harry following behind.

By the time they returned to the room, Pansy was tucked snugly in Blaise's bed, dark hair spilling across his pillow. Blaise had Transfigured himself a narrow mattress on the floor and already appeared to be falling asleep, his breathing becoming slow and even. Harry and Draco crossed the room as gracefully as they could, hitting walls and furniture but thankfully managing to avoid stepping on anybody.

Reaching his trunk, Draco filed through it for something to sleep in, finally finding a worn sleep shirt, one that fell nearly to his knees and was without a doubt the most comfortable thing that he owned. The struggle with his clothes took what felt to be hours, but finally he was squirming his arms through the holes of the shirt and tugging it down over his torso. Yawning, he pulled out a pair of pyjama bottoms for Potter, who caught them with a grin and pulled them on with almost as much as ease as Draco had—not—managed.

Harry's glasses clicked softly in the quiet of the room as he folded the legs together and set them on Draco's nightstand before crawling into bed. Shaking off his sleepy daze long enough to follow, Draco slipped in behind him. Harry flopped onto his back as he watched Draco draw the curtains shut, a goofy smile on his face. The world fell into pitch black as the final inches of the outside world were erased, the curtain closing with a smooth hissing sound as the rungs slid over the metal bar of the bed frame.

Collapsing back, Draco smiled to himself as Harry instantly snuggled up to him, wrapping himself around the blond and sighing contentedly.

"Tonight was fun," Harry said in a drowsy voice, pressing a clumsy kiss to Draco's shoulder.

"It was," Draco agreed, still surprised that he could say such a thing about any night involving Weasley the Wanker.

Harry's breath began to slow, growing deeper. "I love you, Draco," he mumbled, shifting against him before falling asleep in the very next breath.

And although the words normally tended to paralyze Draco with fear, he was feeling far too tired to focus on the worry, far too sleepy and content to feel guilty. All he could do was smile to himself as his mind drifted into unconsciousness.

At that moment, the only thing he could feel was happiness.

* * *

A/N: Prepare for drama next chapter, lovers 😊 Finally, the moment we have all been dreading—waiting for—is about to arrive!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: In which tears are shed, feelings are hurt, love and friendships are shattered, and Draco has an awful day.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Draco knew it was going to be an awful day.

The second he woke up, he knew it was going to be terrible. The entire room was still dark; the water of the lake swirling past the thick glass of the windows was murky and black, and Draco could already tell without looking that the sky would be a gloomy reflection of the ugly lake. For a moment, he considered simply going back to sleep and ignoring the entire world and hiding away from all the horrible awfulness that he knew was creeping his way. Draco had never believed in Divination; he had never really believed in premonitions or the Sight, but somehow, he just knew that the day was going to be awful.

"Get up, hedgehog face!" Blaise sang cheerfully, and Draco heard something rustle a second before a pillow smacked him sharply on the nose.

"Ow, you git!" he snapped, sitting up to glare at the infuriating boy and his infuriating cheerfulness that should not be existent on such a day. It was clearly a day for hiding away and sulking, not for irritating and irrational cheer.

"Good morning, Draco!" Blaise beamed, and Draco glared harder when he noticed the other boy was already dressed. Lord, his friends were aggravating. Blaise should not already be out of bed, and he certainly should not already be so damn happy. It was clearly not a day for happiness.

Draco huffed, rolling back over and pulling the blanket over his head.

"Come on now, Draco," Blaise tutted, crossing the room and ripping the blanket from Draco's clenched hands. "It's time to get up. Hurry up now. Don't make me get Pansy, because I will, so help me god."

"Are all warthogs this annoying?" Draco grumbled, sitting up to level Blaise with another glare, who only smiled angelically, damn the man. Why were his friends so immune to his glares? His glares were damn good! They were impressive and intimidating and Blaise was obviously looking at them all wrong, damn the man.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," Blaise shrugged in response. "You'd have to ask one. I think the real question is, are all hedgehogs this dramatic in the mornings?"

"Sod off," Draco yawned, twisting the kinks from his back before climbing from his bed.

Lord, it was going to be a long day.

* * *

"I'm fucking sick of this!" Draco fumed, clenching the crinkled newspaper tighter between his fists. His angry footsteps seemed to echo off the walls and ricochet off every surface of the corridor. Stupid _Daily Prophet._

"Oh, darling, just let it go," Pansy sighed sympathetically, reaching out to brush her hand down Draco's arm in comfort. The dungeons were empty around them, and Draco spared a second to wonder where everybody was. Although, he supposed it wasn't too much of a mystery. They were all still in class, most likely. The three Slytherins had a free period and were on their way back to the common room, Draco feeling nearly desperate to get away from the annoying population clogging up the castle with their annoyingness. Lord, there should be a limit on how much annoyingness can exist in one area. Hogwarts was so full of it that it surely must be toxic by now.

"She's right, Draco," Blaise frowned, attempting to snatch the paper from Draco's hands and frowning even harder when it tore in half. "You're way too focused on the articles."

"Because they're lies!" Draco told him, fuming even more. Why was neither of them impressed with his fuming? Draco was an excellent fumer, damn it. He was so good, in fact, that he was planning on putting it on his CV after he finished school, under the "special skills" column. It was definitely a talent, even if nobody else seemed to recognize it as such. The wankers.

"How are they lies?" Blaise sighed, sounding exasperated. "You _are_ in a relationship with Harry Potter. That's all the article was about."

"But did you see that picture?!" Draco raged, hearing his voice bounce back to him in the empty corridor.

Pansy shrugged. "I thought it was rather sweet."

"Yes!" Draco snapped. "That's exactly my point! They got a picture of me _smiling_! Another one! Who the fuck keeps taking these damned pictures?!"

Blaise snorted. "So, your complaint about the newspaper is that they managed to capture and print a photo of you smiling at your boyfriend?"

"Yes," Draco said instantly, wondering if it possibly sounded a bit more ridiculous and dramatic out loud than it did in his head. It made perfect sense in his head. He should not be shown smiling at Potter like some sodding lovesick fool. And even if by chance he really did sometimes—very, very rarely, he was sure—do such a thing, it certainly should not have been captured in a sodding picture and shown to the entire world. Some things were just unacceptable.

"It doesn't make you weak, Draco," Pansy sighed, pulling him to a halt to level him with a serious stare. "Just because you were caught smiling fondly at Potter doesn't make you some weak, needy thing all of a sudden, you know."

"Yes, it does," Draco disagreed instantly, wondering if that also possibly sounded even more ridiculous out loud than it did in his head. It sounded mostly reasonable in his head, and only slightly ridiculous. But out loud, it seemed to reverse, sounding more ridiculous and less reasonable when spoken in Pansy's voice. Why did her voice have to confuse him about his own bloody thoughts?

Blaise shook his head. "This isn't even about the picture, Draco. We know what this is really about."

"I just told you what it's about," Draco huffed, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. Why the hell were Blaise and Pansy always thinking they were anywhere near intelligent enough to psychoanalyze a person? He did not want to be psychoanalyzed! They were not Mind Healers and he was not in St. Mungo's, for fuck's sake.

Blaise shot him a sympathetic look. "This is about you and Potter. This is just another manifestation of your guilt, Draco."

"What guilt?" Draco said stubbornly, refusing to admit that Blaise was right. Seeing pictures like that of the two of them, appearing so happy and so—Draco cringed—in love, only ever made him feel uncomfortable. He was still waiting for the moment when Harry would unearth the truth about Draco's deceit and leave the blond broken, regretful, alone, and pining desperately until his dying day.

_Okay,_ he thought, _maybe I am just a bit dramatic. _Just a bit, though_._

But still, he knew the fear was legitimate, as was the guilt that he was trying his hardest not to acknowledge, the same guilt that did not appear to be vanishing. He had thought that, over time, the feeling would grow smaller and weaker until one day it simply disappeared in a cloud of grey smoke.

But instead, it seemed to be growing larger and more insistent. With every smile Harry cast his way, every gentle touch of his hand, every time he whispered _I love you_ in Draco's ear, Draco could feel his guilt grow more and more until it would surely soon grow too big for him to carry, and he was certain on that day, it would simply crush him beneath its heavy weight, smash him into a powder so fine there would be nothing left.

One day it would break him completely.

Blaise gave him an unimpressed look. "Don't play that game with us, Draco. We all know exactly what guilt I'm talking about."

"Sod off," Draco grumbled.

"No," Blaise said pointedly, "tell your guilt to sod off. So your relationship started on a lie, Draco, who cares? You need to let this go already because if you don't, it's only going to get worse."

"You don't understand anything that you're saying," Draco shot back. "You have no idea what it's like to have someone constantly telling you how much they love you when all you've done is lie to them. I _lied _to him, Blaise! And it wasn't just some tiny white lie that he hears every single day, like telling him his hair looks good or that his potion in class was definitely brewed correctly or that his clothing matches or any of that rubbish! I lied to him about his own feelings! About _my_ own feelings! And all for what? Just to get my fucking reputation back? Just to get stupid articles like _this_,"—he threw the half of the newspaper still clenched in one fist to the cold stone floor—"printed about us?! Just so we could be seen together in public! I never would have approached him otherwise! I never would have thanked him otherwise, and you know that! I never would have even _thought _about approaching him, and I certainly would never have thought about thanking him! I never would have considered any of that if I hadn't stood to gain something from it all! If it hadn't been for his name, we would never have gotten together in the first place, you git! Our relationship has been absolute bollocks from the very beginning, and you want to tell me to just _let it go_?!"

Blaise stared at him with an unreadable look on his face, opening his mouth to speak before a sudden voice cut him off.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

All three heads snapped in the direction of the voice, and Draco felt his stomach drop down to rest atop the cold stone floor beside the tattered shreds of the _Daily Prophet._ Harry stood several meters away at the end of a sharp turn in the corridor, mouth hanging open in disbelief as he stared at Draco. His eyes were wide and full of hurt and confusion, and Draco had no idea how to respond. He had no idea what to say.

Oh, god.

Oh, _fuck_.

"Draco?" Harry asked, ignoring the other two Slytherins. "What does that mean?"

"Harry…" Draco whispered through numb lips. "What…what are you doing down here?"

"I came to find you," Harry said in a similar tone, sounding lost and confused. "I know you have a free period, so I was coming to find you. I heard you lot talking…" He paused, staring at Draco with a look that seemed to pierce right through the blond. "What were you talking about?"

"Nothing," Blaise said, laughing charmingly, although Draco could see the way his eyes darted around and the nervous air now cloaking him. "Nothing, Harry, Draco is just having an off day. He was just—"

"I wasn't asking _you_, Zabini!" Harry snapped, taking an angry step forward, and Blaise instantly fell silent. "I was asking Draco! What did that mean, Draco, those things you were just saying?"

Heart pounding, Draco stared at him in rising panic, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. The blood was rushing through his veins in terrified surges, making him feel as though he might faint. He could hear every pounding thud of his frantic heart. "Harry," he choked out, stumbling forward half a meter before Harry's glare made him halt.

He had not seen that look on Harry's face in a very long time, and he was wholly unprepared for how it now made him feel, almost as though a dagger was being twisted cruelly through his chest.

"Well," Harry said in an icy voice, settling on his back foot as he gazed at Draco with cold eyes, "since you're obviously too much of a goddamn coward to tell me yourself, why don't I tell you what I heard, hmm? Because to me, it sounded like you were saying that our entire relationship is built off of some sort of fucking scheme of yours to get your good name back." He laughed wildly, a laugh full of bitter pain, the sound making Draco cringe. He had never heard Harry laugh like that before. "So you're saying that the whole reason you ever approached me and thanked me was to trick me into a relationship with you just for the fucking _press_?! Just so we could be seen together in public? You never actually felt anything for me, Draco, did you? You never felt a single goddamn thing for me. You were never interested in dating _me_, you were interested in dating the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived." Draco opened his mouth to deny everything, but Harry was speaking before he could get the chance to lie to him even more. "God, you must be loving this then. I mean, it worked, didn't it? Your plan worked, Draco, you must be so proud of yourself. You stopped getting Howlers, you got your good name back, you got me to fall for you, you got me to fucking defend you in a fucking interview!"

Draco could not respond. He could not say a thing. Harry was right. God, Harry was right about everything.

"You used me, Draco," Harry whispered, and although the words were quiet, they seemed to slash through Draco more effectively than a scream. "You used me. You made me think you actually cared about me. And god, I really must be a gullible idiot, because I never even saw it coming. You really are the world's best liar, aren't you, Malfoy?"

Draco couldn't help but flinch at the harsh use of his last name. Harry hadn't called him that in so long.

"Harry," Pansy said, holding both hands up palm out and speaking in a soothing tone, "it's not like that, really. He just—"

"Don't!" Harry snapped, body tense and practically crackling with rage. "I fucking heard! So don't you three fucking lie to me now! Don't you dare try to defend his disgusting actions! And don't you dare call me Harry like we're friends!"

The words felt like a slap; even Blaise appeared taken aback.

"Harry…" Draco whispered, feeling his eyes prickle hotly. "Harry, I…"

"Tell me I'm wrong," Harry said sharply, an edge of desperation in his voice. "Tell me I heard wrong. Tell me that everything I said just now is wrong."

Draco said nothing, simply standing there in stunned silence, unable to refute a thing and wondering if any of the current awfulness was really happening. God, he would give anything for it to not be happening.

"Tell me, Draco!" Harry continued, his angry words taking on a pleading tone that sent a dagger through Draco's ice-cold heart. "Tell me that none of that was true! Tell me I misheard! For fuck's sake, just tell me I'm wrong! Please," he finished in a quiet voice, one so soft and strained that it hurt Draco to hear it. "For god's sake, Draco, please, just tell me. Tell me that everything between us was real. Just—" he paused to swallow as his face crumpled, "just tell me this whole thing wasn't really some sort of elaborate manipulation."

But Draco couldn't. Everything Harry had said was right. And Draco couldn't lie to him anymore. He owed Harry the truth and so much more.

The longer he remained silent, the tenser Harry became, until he was practically vibrating with pained upset.

"I hope it was worth it," Harry said in a voice as low and pointed as his glare was hot and sharp, and Draco could see the hurt he was trying his best to hide. "I hope you're proud of yourself, Malfoy. I mean, you pulled it off, didn't you? Congratulations, you won." He laughed that same twisted, bitter laugh. "And all for your fucking social standing. Well," his voice broke, and Draco's vision blurred as he tried desperately to blink the tears from his eyes before they fell, "I hope you're happy with it. I just hope it didn't disgust you too badly to pretend to like me long enough to gain it back. I hope I didn't repulse you too much in the process." His eyes were as glassy as Draco's felt—hot and bright and blinding. Everything was blinding. Everything burned. Everything was shiny and blurry and harsh—the entire world felt so harsh. "You three can go to hell." And with that, Harry strode angrily past them, keeping as far away from Draco as possible in the narrow corridor.

"Harry," Draco choked out, stepping forward, intending to grab onto him, force him to listen, throw himself to the floor and grovel if it would make the anger and betrayal on Harry's face disappear.

"Don't ever speak to me again, Malfoy, just leave me the fuck alone," Harry growled, turning an icy glare on the blond, and Draco felt himself shrink back. That was the Potter he remembered. The one who had always hated Draco; the one who had always looked at him like he was less than human. The glare seemed to linger before Draco's eyes as Harry walked away, his back a stiff, angry line.

And then he was gone. Harry was gone. Harry had left him. He had finally left him.

Draco felt deadened and numb, strange and prickly, unaware if he was standing or sitting, unaware if he was crying or laughing, cold or hot, panicked or calm. He had no idea what he was anymore.

Around him, he could feel Pansy and Blaise touching him, hugging him, could hear them murmuring comfortingly to him, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. It didn't matter even if he could; nothing would comfort him. Nothing _could_ comfort him. Nothing but Harry.

And Harry now hated him.

Draco had been waiting for this day for a long time, but now that it had actually arrived, he had no idea how to handle it. He had no idea how to process it. He had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling or how he was supposed to be responding.

All he knew was that he had never hated himself more.

Fuck.

Draco had known it was going to be a horrible day.

* * *

Harry wouldn't look at him. He wouldn't look at any of them.

Every single day, Draco saw him, and every single day, Harry refused to glance in his direction. Every class they had together, every meal they shared; it was as if Draco didn't even exist. Harry now sat with his back to the Slytherin table every day without fail, and Draco had no idea how to make him pay attention to the blond. He was terrified of approaching Harry, terrified of what Harry would say, terrified that Harry wouldn't even say anything, that he would just glare at Draco and walk away. He was terrified that Harry would respond by ignoring him entirely. Even when they had hated each other, Harry had never been able to ignore him. He had never just ignored him. And Draco was terrified of that happening. He was terrified of seeing Harry turn away, scared to see him refuse to acknowledge the blond. He was terrified of seeing nothing but loathing glinting at him from Harry's cold eyes.

And Draco deserved it. He deserved all of it. He deserved every single ounce of Harry's hatred, even though he knew that Harry could never hate him as much as Draco now hated himself. Harry had loved him, genuinely loved him, and Draco had destroyed that. He had lost it all on his own. He had lost the one thing he loved most in the world, and it was entirely his own fault.

Draco had lost everything.

* * *

"Come on, darling," Pansy said softly, brushing the hair from his forehead with gentle fingers. The action made Draco ache, reminding him of the quiet moments when Harry would do the same—when he would look at him fondly, smile at him affectionately, murmur that he loved him before combing the hair from Draco's forehead.

Draco turned his head, shaking off her touch.

"Draco," she continued, refusing to give up so easily. "Please, love. Let's go do something. We can go for a walk or go to the lake or we can go to the kitchens and demand things from the house-elves without saying please. We can go up to one of the towers and throw things from it if that'll make you feel better. We can set Trip Jinxes for the first-years or charm the loo doors to scream whenever anybody tries to go inside."

Draco ignored her.

"It's Sunday, Draco," Blaise said quietly, and Draco felt his mattress shift as the other boy sank onto it. "You haven't gotten out of bed all weekend."

"So?" Draco said listlessly, tugging the blanket further up his shoulder. He didn't want to go anywhere. He didn't want to do anything. All he wanted to do was wallow in his own abject misery. Sorrow had taken up residence in his soul, weighing it down, making it far too heavy for him to be able to stand up, much less actually walk. All he wanted was to lay in the quiet of his own overwhelming sadness, watching vague shadows drift past his window in the murky waters of the lake, full of dark shapes that Draco had no name for, just as he had no name for the dark feelings now swimming through him in much the same way.

"It's been over a week, Draco," Blaise said, sounding worried as he rested one hand on the bed near Draco's calf.

"Has it? I didn't know," Draco said in a dead voice, too depressed to even manage sarcasm. Lord, he was tired. His muscles felt stiff; every inch of him ached. His eyes felt as though somebody had poured sand into them when he wasn't looking. His throat felt dry and scratchy, but he only burrowed deeper into his blankets in response, ignoring the pitcher of water he knew was less than a meter from his bed. Let him be thirsty and uncomfortable, what did he care. It didn't matter anyway; none of it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Not a single thing in the world seemed to matter.

Nothing mattered to Draco but Harry, and Draco no longer mattered to him_. _

And nothing Pansy or Blaise could say was going to make anything better.

"You need to get up, Draco," Pansy said, concern catching in her voice. "You need to eat. Please."

"Not hungry," Draco responded, his voice sounding like autumn leaves, dry and dead, not a hint of color or life left in their withered, desiccated frames, the sound adding to the heavy feeling that he was only a moment away from crumbling entirely at the barest touch, the barest hint of a breeze. He felt like an Inferius, empty and hollow and rotting, forced into some semblance of existing that wasn't quite death, wasn't quite life. He didn't know what he was.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Blaise said softly, and the words finally succeeded in capturing Draco's attention.

"Sorry?" he wondered, hearing the rasp in his voice as the two syllables scraped against his throat, the pathway feeling as rough as tree bark.

"For what's happened," Blaise explained, and Draco wasn't certain if he had ever heard a more somber tone from the normally cheerful and sarcastic boy. "It's my fault, Draco. All of this. I was the one who came up with the stupid plan in the first place, and I was the one who pushed you into doing it. And it's my fault that all of it blew up like that. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Blaise," Draco replied, turning his face into the mattress. "I was the one who actually did it. You didn't force me to."

"I'm still sorry," Blaise mumbled, "for putting the idea into your head. I just…I never thought it would all play out like this. I never meant for you to get hurt, you know. You're my best friend, Draco."

Draco felt his eyes burn—at the apology, the situation, the tense coil of pained emotions twisting through him. "I know," he whispered. "There's only one person I blame, Blaise, and it isn't you."

"We love you, you know," Pansy said softly, stroking his hair. "Blaise and I love you, Draco."

A teardrop fell without Draco even being aware he had been so close to crying. "I know," he repeated, trying to hold back the sobs. "So did Harry."

And before he knew it, he was crying, wrenching the blanket over his head as if it could stop the sobs from escaping, could stop the tears from falling, could stop the world from hurting. But it couldn't. Nothing could.

He heard another sob not his own a moment before Pansy wrapped herself around him, holding him tightly, crying with him and letting him cry. He felt Blaise settle himself on top of them both, their weight grounding Draco and making him feel more solid, less adrift; making him feel safe and cared for. Making him cry even harder for what he had lost.

"We're sorry, Draco," Pansy whispered, and at her anguished tone, at the worry he could hear in her voice, he slipped one hand free from the blanket, reaching blindly around until he had caught Pansy's hand in his own. He clung to it, squeezing tightly, needing the contact, needing the concern, needing to know he wasn't lost all alone in his grief, even if he was. And he wasn't certain if he would ever find his way free from the tangled black depths of his own sorrow. He just needed to not feel so alone, even if he really was. Even if he always now would be.

"It's going to be okay, Draco," Blaise murmured. "Everything will be okay. You'll see. You'll be okay. I promise."

The words made Draco cry even harder because he knew the truth. It wouldn't be okay. Nothing would ever be okay, and all the empty platitudes in the world would not change that. The only time Draco's life had ever been okay were the moments with Harry, and those were now gone forever.

Draco would now be alone forever. After all, he had seen to that himself. He had no one to blame but himself.

And all he could do now was cry for everything he had lost.

* * *

A/N: Don't worry, lovers! Heartbreak can only survive for so long in the dungeons :)


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: In which apologies are voiced, explanations are forced upon stubborn Gryffindors, Weasley is in no way intimidating, and Blaise Zabini steps in to save the day.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Blaise Zabini had never been one for sentimentalities. He had never been a particularly sympathetic person. He had never been one to wallow in emotion; he had never been one for remorse. Only a fortnight ago, he wasn't even sure if he would have been able to accurately describe the feeling of guilt.

And yet now, that was all he seemed to feel. Now, at last, he finally understood the feeling that had been plaguing Draco ever since his whole sticky, convoluted relationship with Potter had begun.

Blaise finally now understood. But what he mostly understood, was how much he did. Not. Like it.

In fact, he hated it. He hated feeling guilty, he hated feeling worried for his best friend, he hated having to tiptoe around Draco, unsure of what he was and was not allowed to say, unsure if Draco now hated him or not. And he had no idea how to make anything better. More than anything, he wanted things to return to normal, to the way they should be. He wanted Draco and Potter back together, and he wanted Potter back in their lives, in their tiny gang of broken misfits, the one they had all been surprised to learn he fit so well in.

He just wanted everyone to stop being so bloody miserable, himself included. Draco was barely eating and barely managing to drag himself to class. All he did was stare through everything—the walls, his notes, his friends, everything before him. Pansy was spending all her time cloaked in a thick veil of worry, taking on Draco's emotions as her own and saying very little, saving all her energy for the worried glances she threw the blond's way. Her lip was practically in tatters from how often she now chewed on it, constantly biting it as she gazed sadly at Draco, just as uncertain of how to help him as Blaise now was.

And Harry still refused to look at any of them.

Well, Blaise vowed, straightening his spine, that was all about to change. If Potter was going to be a stubborn git and refuse to talk to any of them, then Blaise had no choice but to take matters into his own hands, goddamnit. He would be the brave Gryffindor that Harry Potter clearly was not capable of being in this situation. It was Blaise's turn to save the world, his turn to right all the wrongs. Sure, maybe it was also his fault that some of those wrongs needed to be righted in the first place, but in the end, that was all just meaningless semantics. Right?

Blaise was sure he was right.

Marching through the corridor felt good—it felt productive. He felt every inch the selfless hero he had always known he would one day grow up to become. Even his footsteps sounded selfless and heroic as they rang along the corridor. He wasn't sure if footsteps could actually have traits, but if anyone's could, his could. And clearly did.

Reaching the library, he slowed, quieting his courageous footsteps, the gallantry fading into silence as he slipped inside the large room. Glancing around, he spotted the three Gryffindors immediately at their usual table in the back. Taking a deep breath, Blaise squared himself as best he could before beginning to march over to their table. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his pulse racing wildly, and he took a second to duck behind a bookshelf to calm himself. He would never admit to this aloud, but he was scared. _Well, maybe nervous_, he amended, before amending it right back to scared in the very next second. No, he was definitely scared. He had never before been afraid of Harry Potter, but then again, Blaise had never had the fury of the Chosen One directed at him before that horrid day in the dungeons two weeks ago. He had truly thought of Potter as harmless; as nothing more than a fluffy smiling panda bear, nothing to be afraid of.

Until he had seen Harry Potter's fury pour free in all its wrathful glory, crackling from him like lightning. Until he had felt the scorching heat of his glare, somehow feeling both ice cold and burning hot, managing to burn Blaise and freeze him and halt him in place all at the same time. Never before had Blaise had anyone that he considered to be as close a friend as Potter ever look at him with such seething disdain before. He had never had anyone he liked and cared about ever tell him to go to hell before. It had stung, in a way that Blaise had not been expecting. And watching Draco crumple, watching him cry, watching him fall apart the way he had over the past fortnight, had torn something in Blaise. It hurt to watch. And Blaise was sick to death of seeing it. He was sick of his best friend hurting so badly.

Steeling himself, he stepped out from behind the bookshelf and marched over to Harry's table, sparing a second to be amused as all three Gryffindors jumped when he suddenly pulled out the chair beside Harry with a loud screech and sat heavily in it, wanting to sigh as three glares were suddenly fixed on him.

"Go away, Zabini," Harry said angrily, turning back to his homework.

"No," Blaise replied, folding his arms across his chest. If Harry Potter wanted a battle of wills, he was in for the fight of his damned life. The other boy was clearly underestimating Blaise's stubbornness. He obviously had no idea how many stepfathers and potential suitors of his mother's that he had worn down over the years. He was not an easily dissuaded person, nor was he one to take orders lightly.

"He said go away," Weasley growled.

Blaise glanced over at the prat, one eyebrow raised. "I'm afraid this doesn't concern you, Weasley. I need to speak to Potter alone. Do be a dear and run along now, would you?"

"Oh, fuck off," Weasley retorted.

Blaise ignored him. "I need to speak to you, Harry."

"Yeah, well who says I want to speak to _you,_" Potter muttered.

"I never said you had to," Blaise sighed, longing to rub the headache from his temples. Merlin, he knew the stubborn git was going to be a stubborn…well, git. "I just need you to listen."

"He doesn't want to talk to you!" Weasley snapped.

Pulling his wand from his sleeve, Blaise cast a silencing charm around them before fixing Weasley with a glare. "And I already said that this has nothing to do with you!" he snapped right back. "If you were Harry, it would concern you. But you aren't, so it doesn't. So fuck off already so I can talk to your mate without you bloody interfering in his life like he's a damn child!"

Weasley opened his mouth to respond, but Potter began speaking before the annoying redhead could. "Just go away, Zabini," he said, sounding exhausted. "I don't have anything to say to you, and I don't want to hear anything you may have to say to me."

"Tough," was Blaise's only response. "Because I'm not going anywhere until we talk. I will follow you all over this goddamn castle if I need to, Potter. I'm telling you right now, I will be everywhere you are until you finally give in and speak with me. It would save us both a hell of a lot of time and energy if you just give in now."

Sighing, Harry muttered several things beneath his breath, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. "Fine, you arsehole," he finally said, a sharp edge of anger to his words.

"Harry, I don't think—" Weasley started to say, but Potter cut him off before he could finish.

"Ron, Hermione," he said quietly, still not looking at Blaise, "please? Just for a minute. Just to get him to leave."

"Fine," Weasley relented, narrowing his eyes as he glared at Blaise. "But we'll be close."

"For fuck's sake," Blaise said with a roll of his eyes, "he's a grown fucking man, he can handle himself without your annoying mother hen instincts making a prat of you. He doesn't need you hovering over him, so just go away already so I can talk to him without you being such a whining fucking wankstain about it all, hmm?"

Weasley's mouth dropped open in outrage.

"Yes, Weasley," Blaise drawled, bored by the other boy, "that's a very terrifying war face you have on. I'm very intimidated. Please go do it somewhere else now."

"God," Weasley snapped, "you couldn't be more of a dickhead if you tried."

"Trust me," Blaise said sympathetically, "I haven't even begun to try. This is my polite face. You don't want to see my impolite one, so run along now before it comes out."

"Ron," Harry interrupted in a tired voice. "Please. This will only take a minute, and then he'll go away."

"Fine, talk to the Slytherin prat if you want," Weasley huffed, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. "I told you you never should've trusted any of them." And with that, he marched away, in a huffy display of dramatics capable of rivaling even Draco's best. Granger followed without a word, shooting Blaise a burning, complicated look before turning away and stepping out of range of the silencing charm.

"What do you want?" Harry asked sharply, speaking down to the table rather than Blaise.

"I want to say everything you didn't give Draco a chance to explain," Blaise said flatly, turning in his chair to face Potter.

Potter's face turned red as his fingers trembled with anger. "I don't need it explained to me," he said in a cool voice, "I already heard everything for myself, thanks."

"No, you didn't," Blaise insisted, refusing to allow Harry's anger to sway him from what he needed to say. "Stop thinking that the tiny bit you heard is the whole story."

"Fine then," Potter said in a voice like ice, "enlighten me."

Blaise took a deep breath, wondering if he was helping anything by being there or if his interfering would only make things worse. "It wasn't Draco's fault," he began, trying his best to ignore the glare that Potter immediately swung on him. "None of it. None of it was his idea, Potter."

"What wasn't, Zabini?" Harry said, words sparking with fury. "What wasn't his idea?"

"I didn't believe him at first, you know," Blaise admitted, watching as the anger on Potter's face dissipated somewhat with a sudden swirl of confusion. "When he told us. He told me and Pansy that you fancied him, but I didn't believe him."

"Well isn't he the clever one then," Potter groused, glaring down at the table.

"But he seemed so certain," Blaise continued, ignoring the Gryffindor. "And so, based on that certainty, I came up with a plan. A plan to use your feelings for him to our advantage."

"I already know this!" Harry snapped. "I know what he did and why he fucking did it! You don't need to tell me all this!"

"But I do, Harry," Blaise said softly. "I do need to tell you. Because it was my idea. I was the one who pushed him into it. I was the one who didn't care about your feelings. I was the one who never stopped to consider how it might have affected Draco. I thought it would never work. I thought he was simply being vain or imagining things. And even if it did work, I thought it would be a lark. I thought you would be so easy to take advantage of. I never imagined that the four of us would actually become friends."

"We're not," Potter protested, yanking at the feathers on his quill.

Blaise sighed. "He never lied to you, Harry. Not in the way he thinks. And definitely not in the way you think."

Harry's head jerked up, staring at Blaise with wide eyes full of disbelief. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"You think he was lying about his feelings for you the entire time, don't you?" Blaise asked, studying Potter's face.

"Because he was," Harry said coldly.

"No," Blaise disagreed. "He wasn't. Everything he felt for you was real, Potter. Draco would never have allowed things to progress so far if he didn't care for you in the same way."

"Yeah, right," Harry muttered. "And how long did it take him to develop these supposed feelings? After the third time I fucked him? After the tenth time I told him I loved him? After the fucking _Prophet_ interview I volunteered for like a damned trusting idiot? What does it matter anyway, Zabini? He lied! He used me! Do you have _any_ idea how many people have tried to—and then for him! In such a fucking way! For him to—" he broke off, breathing heavily. "How am I meant to forgive such a thing?" he asked quietly, turning his face away.

"From the very beginning," Blaise replied, watching as Harry turned to him in confusion. "His feelings for you. They weren't something that developed. They were something that already existed. From the very beginning."

"Bollocks," Harry scoffed, eyes darting away. "Why should I believe that?"

"Because it's the truth," Blaise said simply. "I wouldn't lie to you now, Harry. I'm not lying. I mean, Christ," he laughed softly, "you should have seen how sodding nervous he was for your first date. I think he must have fixed his hair at least a hundred times before meeting up with you. I thought he was going to snap himself in half, he was so anxious. And the way he talked about you, and the way he kept smiling to himself as he combed his bloody hair again and again…I'd never seen Draco do those sorts of things before. I'd never seen him get flustered over another person before. Ever. And that's when I think I first knew. I knew before he did."

Harry was silent for a long time. "Knew what?" he finally asked, sounding reluctant.

Blaise levelled him with an even stare. "That his feelings for you were real."

Harry turned away, cheeks flushing pink.

"You're all he's talked about, you know," Blaise told him, hearing Potter's neck crack as his head whipped around to gaze at the Slytherin. "For the whole of term. Ever since the very start of the school year, you are all he's talked about. Drove me and Pansy a bit spare, to be honest."

Potter turned away once more, saying nothing.

"Look," Blaise sighed, "I think we both know that I'm not a particularly sentimental person. Honestly, Harry, if it had been me in Draco's place, I most likely would have been able to seduce you without an ounce of guilt. And even if I did develop feelings for you at some point, I would never have had a problem simply never confessing to what I had done. I would never have felt guilty for never telling you. And so I was never really able to understand Draco's guilt, because I honestly don't think it would have bothered me had I been the one in his shoes. But Draco…" Blaise sighed again. "You have no idea how much this has torn him up. And I'm talking way before you ever found out and left him and sent him into a downward spiral of depression that Pansy and I have been completely unable to pull him out of."

Potter's gaze snapped back to his, brow furrowed as he studied Blaise.

"You have no idea how much the guilt was killing him," Blaise continued. "There were times when I truly did think it was going to completely overwhelm him. Why do you think he ran out on you your first night together? He already had feelings for you and the guilt was eating him alive. He's always cared about you, Harry. He loves you, you idiot."

Potter's breathing quickened as he stared at Blaise without blinking. "He used me," he insisted, sounding confused.

"No," Blaise disagreed, "he didn't. I was the one who tried to use you. Draco was the one who tried to protect you. Don't you remember how reluctant he was for your relationship to be made public? Shouldn't that have been the exact opposite if he truly was only with you to curry public favor from your names being linked?"

The confusion on Harry's face deepened.

"Did you ever think," Blaise said softly, "that maybe he was the one lying to himself about everything?"

"What does that mean?" Potter whispered, and Blaise wanted to crow in victory at the tiny sliver of hope he could hear embedded in Potter's words.

"I've been thinking about this a lot," Blaise admitted. "About the whole situation. And have you ever actually considered that maybe Draco only agreed to the stupid plan in the first place just so he would have an excuse to speak to you?"

Harry's confusion sharpened into a glare. "He didn't need that stupid excuse! He could have just spoken to me!"

Blaise gave him a sympathetic look. "Could he have though? Come on, Harry, you know him. He would never have made himself feel so vulnerable by approaching you unless he thought that it was you who was in the vulnerable position. He loves you, Harry. I've known that from the start. From before your first date. Honestly, looking back on it, I think he's liked you for a long time. I mean, for fuck's sake, Potter, he used his most expensive cologne for you on your very first date! He defended your hair before you had ever even gone out! Doesn't that tell you how much he sodding likes you?"

Harry's lips twitched as a pained look crossed his face, and Blaise wondered what he was thinking.

"And I'm worried about him," Blaise said quietly, feeling more than seeing the way Potter glanced up at him. "Pansy and I are both worried about him."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, the four words drenched in concern, and Blaise wanted to laugh at how much Potter still loved Draco. The stubborn prat. "What's wrong with him?"

Blaise somehow resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculous question, a feat of strength if ever he'd seen one. "You would already know the answer to that if you had actually looked at him even once these past two weeks."

Harry shifted in his seat, and Blaise was familiar enough with guilt by now that he could see it in Potter's movements. "What's wrong with him?" he repeated quietly.

"I think it's a shorter list of what isn't wrong with him," Blaise said grimly. "Because other than the fact that he's barely sleeping, barely eating, barely speaking, barely getting out of bed…Christ, Potter, I think he's even gotten paler, if such a thing is actually possible." The more words that fell from Blaise's lips, the more pinched with worry Potter's face became.

"You have no idea how awful he feels about it," Blaise continued, keeping his voice soft. "To be frank, Potter, he feels like utter shit. He _looks_ like utter shit. Just give him a chance to explain to you his side of things."

Harry looked torn, yanking harder at the feathers on his quill until there were whole clumps missing.

"I'm sorry, you know," Blaise said, wanting to snort at the way Potter's head snapped up to eye him in amazement. Why was everyone always thinking that Blaise was so incapable of apologizing? Just because he never ever did didn't mean that he couldn't. He could be contrite, damn it. "For all of this. Because if it's anyone's fault, Potter, it's mine. Not Draco's. So, I'm sorry."

"You really are a bastard," Harry muttered, turning back to his ruined quill. "Who the hell even comes up with a plan to use somebody like that? Who the hell manipulates a person based on their fucking feelings for someone?"

Blaise sighed. "Honestly, Harry? It's sort of how I was raised. That's all I've seen my mother do, for the entirety of my life. I never knew my father. All I've ever known is the never-ending parade of men she seems to keep on bloody call. Is it really such a wonder that maybe I don't have the healthiest understanding of the way proper relationships should work? I spent my entire childhood watching her manipulate men's interest in her to her own benefit." Blaise had never really considered that maybe his mother's constant use of every rich man to cross her path had possibly had a negative effect on him until Pansy sat him down several days ago and explained it. And he supposed it made sense, even if he didn't like it to.

Potter grunted but said nothing, ripping several more feathers from the spine of his quill.

"I'm sorry for trying to do the same to you," Blaise continued. "And you need to recognize the significance of my remorse because I don't generally feel such a thing. Other than Draco several times over the past two weeks, I'm not even sure who the last person was that I apologized to. But I am sorry, Harry. Because, despite what you might think, I really do love Draco. He's my best friend, and I never wanted to see him hurt. And despite what you might think even more, I really do consider us to be close friends, you and me. It was surprising how well you fit into our little group, in a way that very few ever have. But Pansy and I,"—Lord, he hated having to admit to people how he really felt—"we really do love you too, you git. I mean," he paused, feeling himself flush, "not in like, a bent way. Not in the same way that Draco loves you. But we love you like a mate. Like our best mate who happens to be a Gryffindor and a panda bear, except for when he's being scary-angry at us before ignoring us entirely."

Harry said nothing for a very long time. "That's what you meant, isn't it?" he finally asked, half-turning his head in Blaise's direction. "That day outside the library. When you said that you were the reason Draco and I were together. This is what you meant."

Blaise shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Harry sighed, dropping his quill to the table to rub at his eyes. "I don't even know what you're expecting me to do."

Blaise raised one eyebrow. "Really, Potter? I'm expecting you to be a damned Gryffindor about the whole thing. I'm expecting you to get off your arse and fix this."

"Why do I have to be the one to fix it?" Harry grumbled stubbornly, and Blaise finally gave in to the urge to rub at his temples.

"Because," he said in a pained voice, "Draco thinks you hate him. He has convinced himself that you hate him and that you'll never speak to him again. He's certain that you won't ever even _look_ at him again. I wasn't lying about the downward spiral of depression he's lost himself in, Potter." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "So it's up to you to go to him and tell him that you don't hate him." Blaise paused as he considered the other boy. "Do you hate him?"

"No!" Harry said immediately, clamping his lips shut and turning away as he flushed.

"Do you still love him?" Blaise pressed, settling in to be there for however long it would take to get Harry Potter to admit to them both that he was still arse over tits for Draco.

Harry said nothing, staring down at the table and tracing idle shapes across its surface with one finger.

"Harry," Blaise said, shifting closer, "do you still love Draco?"

Another flush spread across Harry's cheeks as he ducked his head, mumbling something beneath his breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Blaise asked, resisting the urge to poke Harry's arm. They both knew the answer, why couldn't he just admit it already?

"I said yes, damn it!" Harry snapped, glaring at Blaise with red cheeks and angry eyes.

"Good," Blaise said simply. "Then do something about it."

The glare lasted for several more seconds before Harry crumpled, shoulders slumping. "I don't even know where he is. And I have no idea what to say."

"Well," Blaise said, clapping him on the shoulder, "the first one's easy. He's in the dorm room, laying on his bed and staring at the wall, not speaking and not eating and not smiling and not moving, just like he's been doing for the past fortnight."

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, twisting his fingers together atop the table. "And what should I say?"

"Whatever you like," Blaise shrugged. "You could try telling the truth, maybe, and tell him how much you've missed him. You could tell him you still love him. You could tell him about what a hero I am to have tracked you down and out-stubborned you and healed everything. You could tell him about how I saved the entire bloody world, Potter. You know, the truth."

Harry's lips twitched as he shook his head. "You really are such a wanker."

Blaise grinned at him. "But such a charming one, wouldn't you say?"

"No," Harry snorted. "I don't think I would."

"It's okay, Harry," Blaise said, patting him on the shoulder, "one day you'll be able to break out of that shell of denial you've encased yourself in. And on that day, you'll finally no longer be able to lie to yourself in such an appalling manner."

A chuckle escaped Potter a second before he clamped his lips shut, looking furious at himself for having ever dared to laugh at Blaise's hilarious charm. Poor Potter. The boy really was in such deep denial over how much he loved Blaise's company.

"Do you really think this can be fixed?" The question was unexpected and spoken in a quiet voice, surprising Blaise.

"Of course I do," he frowned. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't think that, Potter. Do you really think I'm the type to apologize to someone without expecting it to get at least a few results?"

"Are you saying that you apologized to me just to get me to speak to Draco?" Harry asked coolly, an edge of anger to his words.

Blaise sighed. "Of course not. I apologized because I really am sorry. But that doesn't mean that I was not also hoping that it would inspire you to get off your arse and fix things. Because I've tried to help Draco. I've tried to fix him. And it's not working. You're the only one who can do it, Harry. He needs you, all right?"

Harry stared at him in silence, his face an unreadable mask. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he finally asked, staring at Blaise with stony eyes.

"Because," Blaise shrugged, "there's no reason to lie to you now. You already know the truth. And the stupid plan more or less worked. The hate mail has stopped. Draco's stopped getting death threats. We actually get treated like real people now. So unless you're going to go to the _Prophet_ and do another interview in which you tell the entire world how much you now hate Draco and how he's the world's most horrible person, there's really no need for me to come to you and apologize and ask you to speak to him."

"I don't hate him," Harry mumbled uncomfortably, shifting in his seat, and Blaise wanted to smile at the sight. God, it was pathetically obvious to anyone with eyes how much Potter still loved Draco.

"Then tell him that," Blaise said, keeping his voice gentle. "Because he genuinely believes that you do hate him, Harry. And it's killing him."

Frowning, Potter played with a torn bit of parchment, crumpling it up and rolling it into a ball. "Is he really upset?"

At the idiotic question, Blaise was unable to resist rolling his eyes in a movement so hard it made his head hurt. "Of course he is! I haven't exaggerated a thing, Potter! If anything, I've underexaggerated how bad it is! So go fucking talk to him already!"

Squaring his jaw, Harry nodded, and Blaise nearly melted in relief. Things would be fixed. He was sure of it. He had done it. He had convinced Harry to talk to Draco. Blaise had saved the day and absolved himself of all past sin. His conscience was now clear once more, and things could return to normal. Everyone could be happy again.

"This doesn't mean that I've forgiven you, you know," Harry said suddenly, somewhat shattering Blaise's smug success just a bit.

"Give it some time," Blaise shrugged. "Best friends fight. And then we get over it and make up. You're one of the Slytherins, Harry, and you can't get rid of us so easily."

One half of Harry's mouth pulled up in a smile. "God, you really are such a wanker."

"But you love me," Blaise grinned. "Accept it already, Potter."

Harry snorted. "You are such a fucking warthog, Blaise."

Blaise's grin widened. "And you're our panda bear."

Harry returned the grin. "Have you lot really missed me that much then?"

Blaise snorted. "I am admitting to nothing incriminating. But…" he hesitated, feeling oddly embarrassed by what he was about to admit—Lord, he hated having to admit things—"I suppose it's possible that Pansy and I have missed you. I mean," he felt himself flush, "not as much as you've missed us, I'm sure."

"Oh, sure," Harry said sarcastically, but his grin was still in place.

"So," Blaise drawled, glancing over to where Weasley and Granger had relocated and noting the glare still on Weasley's face, "how badly do your sidekicks now hate the three of us?"

"Eh," Harry glanced over to them as well and shrugged, "significantly, I suppose? They're just a bit protective of me. They like me being manipulated by people even less than I like it. Plus, Ron was never your biggest supporter, you know that. Even though I do think he sometimes genuinely liked the three of you."

"You say that as though it's surprising," Blaise said with a casual wave of his hand. "I mean, what's not to like, Potter? We are inherently charming and well-loved people."

"Sure," Harry said sarcastically. "Remind me again why you had to come up with the sodding daft plan in the first place?"

A reluctant smile tugged at Blaise's mouth. "Touché. I'm tempted to give you ten points for that one."

Harry shook his head with a small grin. "I think I deserve a million points for all the bollocks you three have put me through."

Blaise tilted his head as he considered Harry with a serious expression. "Would it have been better if it had never happened? Would you have preferred if I had never come up with the plan or ever convinced Draco to go along with it? You know that he would not have approached you without it, Harry. You know how unwilling he is to actually connect to his feelings, even at the same time he's absolute shit at hiding them."

Harry sighed, saying nothing for a long time. "No," he finally said. "No, I'm glad that he did, even if his intentions weren't particularly that honorable."

"Trust a Gryffindor to bring the matter of honor into everything," Blaise snorted. "But I think you're suffering from the same problem as Draco, in that you're only focusing on the negatives and not on all the positives of your relationship. Most of it was good, wasn't it? You two fit surprisingly well together. Just like the four of us fit surprisingly well together. Once you've been allowed membership in the group, Potter, there's no leaving it. There's no going back. You make your real friends in Slytherin."

"Yeah," Harry laughed, looking surprised at himself for the sound. "I suppose you do."

"So what are you going to do now then?"

Harry looked uncertain. "Er, go speak to Draco, I suppose?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Would you like to try that again with just a bit more conviction?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm going to go speak to Draco."

"Good man!" Blaise clapped him on the back. "There's that Gryffindor bravery I've been waiting for over the past fortnight! You've finally found yourself again, Potter, congratulations and welcome back."

Harry huffed.

"Oh," Blaise added, "and tell Weasley to stop glaring at me already, for fuck's sake. He scares precisely no one. Tell him to work on his intimidation; it's pathetic. There are plants in the greenhouses that are more terrifying than he is."

"Sure," Harry chuckled, "I'll just do that."

Blaise smiled at him. "I'm glad we're best friends again, Harry."

Potter responded with a heavy eye roll. "I dunno if I'd go that far, warthog face."

"Oh please," Blaise said with an even heavier eye roll—as if Potter could ever out-eye roll him, honestly—"Only best friends refer to each other as warthog faces. I sincerely doubt you ever referred to You-Know-Who as a warthog face."

Harry grinned. "Not really the animal he most resembled."

"Yes," Blaise said seriously, "calling him a flobberworm face would have been much more accurate."

Harry laughed. "God, you're ridiculous, Zabini."

"Yes," Blaise said in the same serious voice, "ridiculously charming. I already know, Potter, you don't need to keep repeating it so much."

Potter snorted but did not refute the statement, something that Blaise took to be an overwhelming victory.

"So!" he clapped his hands together, "Let's get going then!"

"You're not going to leave until I agree to come with you, are you?" Potter asked dryly, shaking his head as Blaise beamed angelically at him in response.

"Why ask questions to which you already know the answer?"

"Fine then," Harry sighed, fidgeting nervously before nodding to himself and beginning to gather his things together. "Let's go."

With a smile, Blaise cancelled the silencing charm around them, allowing the sounds of the library to rush back in. He could hear low murmurs of the other students, the rustling of pages being turned, the scratch of quills on parchment, and he swore he could almost hear the anxious beating of Potter's heart. How nervous was the chap?

"What's going on? Where are you going?" a voice asked, and Blaise glanced up to find Weasley standing beside the table with his arms crossed, swinging his narrowed gaze between Potter and Blaise.

"To speak to Draco," Harry said simply, shoving his notes and books into his bag.

"What?" Weasley gasped, sounding horrified, and Blaise couldn't resist smirking at him. God, Draco really had been right about the redhead being the king of all wankers. "Harry, you can't!"

"I'm fairly certain he can," Blaise drawled. "Given that he has free will and all that, and that you're not actually as in charge of him as you seem to think."

"Oh, fuck off, Zabini!" Weasley snapped.

"Gladly," Blaise said smoothly, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. "I'll just fuck off now. To the dungeons. With Harry."

"Harry," Weasley cut in, voice sounding urgent. "You can't trust him! Don't go down there!"

"I have to, Ron," Harry sighed. "Blaise is right. I need to speak with Draco."

"What the hell did he say to you?" the redhead demanded.

"I simply explained things," Blaise said, studying his nails in boredom. "I did nothing but shed a different light on the situation."

"I don't believe you," Weasley said instantly, "you lied to him again."

"Believe what you want," Blaise shrugged, "I don't care. Now, I like you well enough when you're not being an utter insufferable knobhead, Weasley, but I have no way of saying this any more politely—back the fuck off right now, because you don't know a damned thing about the situation. Harry can make his own decisions about who he speaks to."

"Just tell us you didn't lie to him again," Granger cut in, and Blaise turned to find her giving him a stony look. "Because I swear to god, Zabini, I really will hex walrus tusks on you if you've lied to him even more than you already have."

"I didn't lie to him, Granger," Blaise promised softly. "I swear it. I was unflinchingly honest, in fact. You want your friend to be happy, don't you?" He waited until she nodded, however reluctant a nod it may have been. "Well, the key to his happiness is currently moping down in the dungeons. So stop standing in the way of true love already, for god's sake. Do you really think I would have wounded my pride by apologizing to this sod here," he jerked his head in Potter's direction, "for the sake of a fucking lie?"

"Yes," Weasley said instantly.

Ignoring him, Blaise turned to Harry. "Come along, Potter. It's time to see Draco."

"Harry, don't go," Weasley protested, staring defiantly back at the glare that Blaise levelled him with.

"It's like I said, Weasley," he drawled coldly, "you don't understand the situation. In fact, you know fuck all about the situation, so you're really not the one who should be calling the shots on it. Harry is far more informed than you'll ever be on everything that's happened, so why not try allowing him to make up his own mind, hmm?"

"So what's your mind then, Harry?" Granger asked quietly, darting glances between Harry and Blaise.

Harry sighed. "I want to speak to Draco," he whispered, gaze locked on the table. "I need to speak to him. I—I miss him, Hermione."

"He used you, Harry!" Weasley argued, refusing to back down easily, the wank head. "You were just a name to him!"

"Oh please," Blaise rolled his eyes. "As if you didn't do the same thing." At the statement, Weasley looked outraged, but Blaise continued before he could speak. "I know you were raised to know his name, Weasley. His name was the very first thing you knew about him, before you ever even spoke to him. In fact, if I had to guess, and please correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing that you even asked to see his scar within the very first minute of meeting him, didn't you?"

Weasley flushed angrily, muttering something beneath his breath.

"That's what I thought," Blaise continued. "Don't tell me that there wasn't some part of you that thought it would be cool to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived. So climb down off the towering pedestal of hypocrisy you've hoisted yourself up on and stop punishing others for doing the same thing you did."

"I never used him!" Weasley said defensively.

"Maybe not," Blaise shrugged. "Maybe you never intended to or ever thought of it as using him. But you went into your friendship knowing exactly who he was and how people would respond to him, and how they would respond to you as a result of your being friends with him. So don't blame Draco for doing the same thing, especially when I was the one who pushed him to do it. Because you don't know him, Weasley. You never truly have. And you have no idea how he feels about Harry."

Granger sighed. "Are you sure, Harry?"

Potter nodded. "I need to speak to him."

"All right," she relented, placing a comforting hand on Weasley's shoulder. "But I'm warning you, Zabini," she turned and fixed Blaise with a glare far more frightening than her wanker boyfriend's, "if any of you lie to him again, or use him again, or hurt him ever again, I _will_ make you regret it."

"Noted," Blaise vowed solemnly. "I promise. No more lies." One eyebrow rose as he turned to the redhead beside her. "Take notes, Weasley. _That_ is how you intimidate a person. Well done, Granger."

Weasley huffed but made no reply.

"Well, Harry," Blaise turned to the messy-haired boy, "let's go then. Follow me."

* * *

The trip to the dungeons was made in silence, Blaise peeking over at Harry every now and then to find the Gryffindor twisting his fingers together nervously.

"Tell me something, Blaise," Harry finally said, just as they reached the common room entrance. "If Draco really is in love with me like you say, why did he never say it back? I can't even count how many times I said it to him, and he never said a single word."

"Simple," Blaise shrugged. "It was the guilt, Potter. Every time you said it, it only made him feel worse for deceiving you because he felt as though he didn't deserve for you to love him and he didn't have the right to say it back. Plus, he really is utter shit at connecting with his emotions."

"And that's coming from _you_," Harry muttered, cracking his neck.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Oh, just hurry up already." Giving the wall the password, they swept through the common room side-by-side, ignoring the open stares they got from the other students. Within moments they had arrived at the dorm, and Blaise glanced over to find Harry eyeing the closed door with an apprehensive look.

"It'll be fine, Harry," Blaise said quietly. Lord, the amount of sarcasm he would have to expend over the next several days to make up for all this dreadful seriousness and the million somber words he had exchanged over the last hour…it would have to be a staggering amount of sarcasm, he had no doubt. He hoped everybody was ready for it, because he had no choice if he wanted to balance himself out.

"Sure," Harry nodded, swinging his arms. "Right. Yeah. It'll be fine. Definitely."

"Let me just make sure Pansy isn't in there." Opening the door as quietly as possible, Blaise ducked his head inside, relieved to find that, other than the lump on Draco's bed hidden beneath a blanket, the room was silent and empty. "Okay, Potter," he whispered, stepping back out of the room and glancing at the Gryffindor. "You're up."

* * *

A/N: I told you lovelies that heartbreak can only survive so long in the dungeons :) Only one chapter left before the epilogue!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: In which nothing in Draco's life cooperates, his organs refuse to listen to command, personal sanity is questioned, and love is—finally—confessed.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Draco couldn't sleep. He had been trying for what felt like hours. Why couldn't he bloody sleep? Reaching out, he grasped the heavy gold pocket watch he had been given on his seventeenth birthday. He wasn't sure why, but he had taken to carrying it around with him recently. There was something oddly comforting in having it near, even if all it did was count down the minutes left to his lonely, meaningless death.

Flipping the watch open, he sighed as he noticed the time, rolling his eyes at himself. Well, that sodding explained why he couldn't sleep then. It was only just after five in the afternoon.

Stupid time. Why couldn't it pass faster?

The door to the room creaked open, and Draco heard light, hesitant footsteps tapping atop the stone floor. Merlin, he hoped it wasn't Blaise tiptoeing around his own room. Draco wasn't that much of a basketcase, was he? It was most likely Pansy, come in to check on him again and give him another of those smothering hugs she had been subjecting him to more and more over the past two weeks.

Fuck.

He didn't want another hug. He didn't want any more meaningless platitudes about how everything would be okay. He didn't want another goddamn apology from either of them. The only thing he wanted was the one thing he was guaranteed to never have.

The one person guaranteed to never step foot in his dorm room ever again.

"Draco," a voice whispered, and Draco froze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. That didn't sound like Blaise…

"Draco," the voice tried again, a bit louder, and Draco felt his mattress dip as someone sat down behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The warmth seemed to burn through the blanket directly into Draco's skin, making him shiver. A slow, curious numbness was beginning to spread through him, his body knowing what his mind refused to accept. Because he knew that touch. He recognized the feel and the weight; he recognized the warmth. "Draco," the voice said again, and Draco bolted upright, his eyes wide as they gazed into a familiar green pair.

Harry was in his bedroom.

Harry was there, _in his bedroom_. Harry was saying his name. He was looking at Draco. He was _touching_ Draco.

No. Draco shook his head wildly. No, this was a dream. It wasn't really happening. There was no chance in hell that it was really happening. There was no chance in hell that Harry was really there, speaking so softly and touching him so gently and gazing at him so unloathingly.

Because Draco knew—he knew how Harry now spoke to him, which was never. He knew how Harry now touched him, which was _fucking never_. He knew how he now stared at him—by looking in any direction that Draco was not in. And so Harry could not be there, going against every single rule the brunet had implemented himself ever since that disastrous day two weeks ago. And Draco didn't feel like he was asleep, so he wasn't dreaming. But there was also no way it could be real, which would mean that…

It had finally happened.

Draco had finally lost his mind.

A fond smile slipped across Harry's face, but Draco could see sadness and a lingering tension in his gaze. "You look as if you've seen a ghost," Harry said, which Draco found to be an annoyingly strange and ironic thing to say, considering that, first of all, Draco had already seen several ghosts that day, and secondly, the person who said that was not even real when ghosts actually were. It was pretty bloody rich of an apparition to be mocking ghost sightings, after all, especially considering what a common occurrence such sightings really were.

Lord, if Draco had to lose his mind, could he not have at least lost it to a less imbecilic and hypocritical hallucination?

"What are you thinking?" the hallucination whispered, and Draco blinked. It was certainly a realistic hallucination, Draco would give it that. Although, to his knowledge, he had never hallucinated before, so perhaps all hallucinations seemed just as real.

The thought made Draco frown.

That was just bloody perfect. Now he was hallucinating. Now he would have to go to St. Mungo's and check himself into the Janus Thickey Ward and then have no choice but to subject himself to the Mind Healers, whom he was certain would take great pleasure in diagnosing him as incurably batshit loony, after which they would not hesitate to break their sacred oaths as Healers and sell the information to the papers, and the _Prophet_ would take even greater pleasure in running a million and one articles about how he had lost his mind and was now an unhealable mess dribbling all over himself in hospital after being dumped by Harry Potter for being a lying bell-end.

Yep, that was most certainly what was going to happen. Damn it.

The hallucination sighed in frustration. "Will you please say something?"

Draco tilted his head, responding by lifting one finger and poking the hallucination sharply in the chest.

"Ow!" it yelped, rubbing the spot where Draco had poked. "What the hell was that for?"

But Draco was far too busy frowning down at his finger to answer. Were all hallucinations solid to the hallucinator? Are hallucinations felt, just like real life? Or are they solely auditory/visual? Should Draco's finger have passed right through it, or was it perfectly common—as common as a bloody mental breakdown can be, he supposed—for his finger to hit what felt like perfectly normal solid flesh?

Oh, great. Now Draco was mentally debating with himself on what was more common amongst the insane. God, he would fit right in amongst their masses, wouldn't he?

The hallucination frowned. "Draco?"

Frowning even harder than the hallucination, Draco lay back down on the bed, facing the murky windows. Maybe if he ignored it, the hallucination would fade away.

"Draco?" Now it sounded concerned, making Draco nearly snort. Why should something that wasn't even real care about him? "Draco, are you okay?"

The daft question really did make Draco snort. If it was a hallucination, then that meant it was coming from his own mind, and nothing in his mind should be asking such a stupid question with such an obvious answer. Stupid hallucination.

But, Draco reasoned, he supposed it could be worse. At least he wasn't hallucinating Weasley alone in his room with him. There would not be enough Mind Healing in the world for the sort of fucked-up trauma that such a thing would no doubt induce. At least Draco wasn't too far gone to ever hallucinate anything that ginger.

He shuddered at the thought.

"Draco?" The hallucination shook him, gently at first and then harder when there was no response, making Draco roll his eyes. Honestly, the least a bloody hallucination could do if it was going to appear out of nowhere and haunt him with things that could never come to pass in the real world, such as the real Potter sitting on his bed, then the least it could bloody well do was be polite about Draco's loss of sanity. Why did it have to shake him? He already knew it was there and was now well-aware of how mad he had clearly gone. He didn't need to be reminded by something that wasn't even real.

But then he frowned as he thought about it. Were mad people truly capable of accepting their own madness so readily? Weren't crazy people always meant to be denying their insanity? Wasn't that the true mark of madness?

Hm. Draco wondered what that meant.

"Okay," the voice above him said, sounding worried, "do I need to take you to the Hospital Wing or something? Should I go get someone? Why the hell aren't you responding?"

"Why should I respond to things that aren't even really here?" he wondered aloud, his voice sounding dusty and disused and making his throat ache as the jagged words crunched their way free.

"What does that mean?" The voice asked, trying to tug him over to look at the blasted hallucination. "What do you mean things that aren't really here? Draco, are you drunk?"

"No," Draco snorted. God, he wished. "I wish. Stupid Blaise hid all the alcohol. You should know that if you're nothing more than a figment of my imagination."

"A figment of your imagination?" Now the voice sounded confused. Good. That made two of them. "What the hell does that even mean? Are you sure you're not drunk?"

"Just go away already, Hallucination Potter," he said, sounding bored. He supposed that Hallucination Harry would be a better name for the thing, but alliterations had always annoyed him, for some reason.

"You think I'm a hallucination?" Silence fell behind the question, thick and heavy, right before a hysterical laugh slipped free from the black-haired apparition that would not bloody leave or take a hint, the sound bouncing around the stone room. "For fuck's sake, Draco, I'm not a bloody hallucination!"

"Sure you're not," Draco drawled. Christ, was he really arguing with a sodding figment of his own imagination? And just when he thought his life couldn't get any sadder. "That's exactly what a real hallucination would want me to think." And he refused to give in so easily to the hallucination's mind games. Which, since the hallucination was taking place in his mind, he supposed were his own mind games. On his own mind.

Draco frowned, unsure if any of that made even the slightest bit of sense. But, he reasoned, he supposed he was crazy now and no longer had to worry about making sense. Maybe there was a certain freedom in losing one's mind.

Another laugh sounded, this one much less hysterical and much more kind, right before two warm arms wrapped around him. "Draco," a voice said, somewhat muffled by the blanket the fake prat had buried his face in, "I'm not a hallucination. I really am here."

"No, you're not," Draco disagreed, feeling his heart start to hammer. No, this was all a part of his own mind's mental mind games on himself, he was sure of it. His mind was certainly sadistic enough to want to play such games and induce such confusion in him. His mind hated him and clearly wanted him to suffer and drown in his own uncertainty.

"Yes, I am," the voice chuckled. "I came to talk to you. Although, I wasn't expecting to be accused of not even being real."

"Because you're not," Draco said automatically, his heart practically thundering in his chest. No, the hallucination _had_ to be a hallucination; it could not be real. Because if it was real, then that would mean…that would mean that…oh, fuck. That would mean that he was making a colossal idiot of himself in front of the real Harry Potter.

Fuck, why couldn't it have been a blasted hallucination?!

Draco bolted upright out of nowhere, startling the other boy and nearly flinging him from the bed with the sudden movement. "What are you doing here?" he squeaked, feeling his eyes widen in horror at the unmanly sound that had somehow escaped from his dry throat. Lord, Harry couldn't be here! Not when Draco was still in such a pathetic state! His hair was lank and stringy, his eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep and ringed by dark circles, and he was suddenly extremely aware of the fact that he had not showered in two days.

Fuck, why did Harry have to be there? Why couldn't Draco have just been losing his mind?!

Harry looked somewhat taken aback by Draco's growing panic. "I came to speak with you," he told him, keeping his voice soft. "I thought we should talk."

"Right, sure, of course," Draco babbled, unaware of what he was saying. "Well, you know, I won't stop you. Just get it over with already. Yell all the things that you didn't get a chance to say the other day. I'm sure you're dying to get it all out. Tell me what a horrible lying arsehole I am and how I'm utter shit and how you're sorry you ever met me and sorry you ever spoke to me and sorry you ever even _looked_ at me and sorry I ever even existed in the first place to be met and spoken to and looked at. Seriously, Potter, I won't stop you. Go ahead and tell me what an awful reprehensible disgrace of a human being I am and how you wish you'd never—"

"Would you stop?" Harry interrupted, sounding exasperated. "I'm not here to say any of that."

Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I knew you were a bloody hallucination."

The accusation made Harry snort. "I'm really not, Draco."

"Yes, you are," Draco insisted. "Because the real Harry hates me. He doesn't call me Draco anymore, he calls me Malfoy. And he would never say those things if he were really here. So therefore, you're lying and I'm right." _And also incurably barmy. _Draco sighed at the thought, knowing that in this instance, being right felt a whole lot like losing.

Hallucination Potter chuckled. "God, I had forgotten how mad you are."

"Yep, that's right," Draco agreed. "Hence the hallucination. I'm glad you're finally catching up. Lord, who knew my own mind could be so sodding dim?"

"God, you're ridiculous," the brunet said softly, smiling at Draco. "I've missed you, Draco. So much."

"And that's exactly what my imagination would want you to say."

Harry gave him a worried look. "How much sleep have you been getting exactly?"

The question reminded Draco of his darkened, puffy eyes and he grimaced. "Obviously very little, ta ever so, Hallucination Potter."

Warm fingers combed through his hair, tucking it behind one ear. "I'm real, Draco," the other boy said, in a voice just as warm as the touch.

"You're not," Draco argued weakly, unsure why he was still arguing the statement when it was becoming fairly obvious that maybe Harry really was real and really was there and maybe Draco would only continue to embarrass himself by denying it. "It makes no sense for you to be here, you hate me now."

Harry sighed sadly. "No, Draco, I don't. I was angry. And I was confused. I didn't understand what was happening. I thought—" he paused to sigh again. "Blaise tracked me down and explained it all to me."

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Blaise tracked you down? And you actually let him explain it to you?" That stung. Harry hadn't allowed Draco to explain things. He hadn't spoken to Draco. But Blaise he would talk to?

"He didn't really give me much choice," Harry said wryly. "He pretty much just showed up and told me we were going to have a talk and then threatened to annoy me into speaking with him if I didn't give in right then."

"He is excellent at being annoying," Draco agreed, heart hammering in his chest. What did that mean? What did that mean that Harry was there? What did he mean when he said that Blaise had explained everything?

"He explained to me that the whole thing was his idea," Harry said, and Draco wondered if the sneaky prat was somehow reading his mind. How had he known that was what he had been thinking? "And he told me that he was the one who pushed you into going along with it."

Draco shrugged, unsure if he was meant to respond or not.

"He apologized to me, you know," Harry said, and Draco glanced up at him in surprise. Blaise had apologized?

"He did?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, he did."

Draco said nothing for a long time. "I still don't know what you're doing here, Potter," Draco finally responded, turning away. "If you really are real, I mean. Because if you're not real, then I suppose it really doesn't matter what you're doing here. That would be the least of my worries if I find out I really have lost the plot entirely."

Harry grinned. "Oh, I'm not saying you _haven't_ lost the plot, Draco. But I really am real, I swear it."

"That still doesn't answer the question of what you're doing here," Draco pointed out, trying to surreptitiously straighten his tangled hair out with his fingers. Damn it, why couldn't Harry have warned him he was coming down to the dungeons? Lord, Draco was certain he looked an absolute fright.

Fuck.

He didn't want Harry to have to see him look such a pathetic and repulsive mess.

Harry sighed. "It's simple, really. I want you back in my life."

The words stunned Draco, and his eyes widened in surprise. Had Harry really said that, or was Draco simply mishearing things? Maybe it was his ears that were broken and not his mind. Or maybe it really was his mind and it was Hallucination Potter saying those words—words that Draco had been longing to hear. But now that he was hearing them, he wasn't certain if he could ever believe them. It was all simply too good to be true.

"I've missed you," Harry continued, staring at him with those large green eyes, the ones that Draco had been certain would never look at him again.

"You have?" he whispered, unsure if he should believe him or not. He wasn't sure why Harry would have gone to the trouble of coming all the way down to his dorm in the dungeons if he was only going to lie to Draco, but he also wasn't sure if he could so easily accept the words he was hearing.

"Yeah," Harry said softly. "I really have."

"But…" Draco glanced away, unable to look Harry in the eye, "I thought you hated me now. What happened to hating me?"

Harry sighed. "I never hated you, Draco. I already told you, I was angry. And I didn't understand what was happening. But Blaise explained things."

Draco stared down at his lap, tracing shapeless patterns across the blanket covering his thigh. "And now all is forgiven? Just like that?"

Harry said nothing for several moments, and Draco finally glanced up to find him staring at Draco with the signature intense stare that Draco had missed over the past fortnight. Lord, he had nearly forgotten how Harry was able to set every inch of him on fire with the power of his gaze alone.

"How do you feel about me, Draco?" he finally asked after entire centuries had passed.

The question startled Draco, who instantly dropped his gaze back down to his lap. "I dunno," he shrugged, blushing fiercely. God, why did Harry have to go straight to the hardest question? What should Draco say? What was Harry hoping to hear? Draco's heart was hammering in his chest; his limbs tingled, and his palms felt damp. What if Draco decided to be honest and confess his feelings, only for Harry to laugh cruelly in his face before leaving him alone once more? What if that his twisted vengeance for everything Draco had done to him?

Not that Draco could ever picture Harry laughing cruelly at anyone, especially right in the face of someone as pathetic as Draco was in that moment, but in his panic, his mind had somehow convinced him that it was a very real possibility. His hands sat in his lap, twisting and rolling the blanket between his nervous fingers.

"Draco," Harry said quietly, placing one hand over the back of Draco's own. "Please. Just answer the question."

Draco continued to stare down at his lap, remaining silent. Lord, he couldn't even remember the last time he had felt so awkward. How the hell was he supposed to answer the question? _Well, you see, Harry, I'm actually desperately and pathetically in love with you and have been completely unable to function ever since the day you told me to go to hell and walked away from me and left me a lonely broken mess behind you. Also, I've really missed the feeling of you going down on me._

Merlin, he couldn't say any of that. Especially the last part. And especially the first part. Especially _any _of it.

"Do you want to be with me, Draco?" the brunet asked in the same quiet voice, snapping Draco out of his mental spiral of embarrassment.

Draco made some weird sort of half-grunt, jerking his shoulders in a shrug and praying to God that his face was not as red as he knew it was. It felt like the skin on his cheeks was made from flames instead of actual skin. Fuck. If Harry continued with his questioning, Draco knew he would reply with something scathing and sarcastic, which he did not want to do. He would prefer to respond with genuine sincerity, but he was so used to skipping right past sincerity and barreling straight to sarcasm. Even now, he could feel the desire to vomit up a spew of sardonic responses in the face of Harry's intense directness. Why was his first reaction always to vomit up unpleasant words and mocking tones? Why couldn't he vomit up nice things for once?

"Draco."

Great, now Harry sounded pained. And Draco still had no idea what to say.

"Please, just answer the question. With actual words."

The request made Draco's eyes narrow, and he could feel a faint throbbing in his temples. Fuck, he was far too exhausted for any of this horrible situation. He was far too exhausted to play any of the mind games he was certain Harry was not actually playing. Relationships were far too treacherous and fragile to be able to navigate safely whilst feeling so weighed down with fatigue.

"Fine!" he snapped, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut tight so he wouldn't have to see the effect his pique had on the other boy—pique that he was unable to reign in or control. "Fine, Harry, for god's sake! You want an answer? Well, fine! _Yes_ is the fucking answer, all right? Yes, of _course_ I want to be with you, because you're sodding perfect, you twat, even when you're not! Actually, _especially _when you're not, because you're really not, you know! You're too trusting and far too optimistic and have the ability to make me feel like utter shit about myself even at the same time you have the annoying ability to make me happier than anyone else ever has, and your hair is horrendous even at the same time it's really rather attractive on you and you wear trousers with _holes_ in them and you have a tendency to be far too polite to your rabid fans when really you should be telling them to just fuck off already and leave you alone, and your palate is so unsophisticated it's almost offensive! And you _continue_ to wear glasses like a knob when there have to be least a hundred different ways to correct eyesight with magic, and you like to lie right on top of me and practically crush me to death while we sleep! And you add the milk _first_ when you make tea, which I hardly think I need to say how revoltingly, appallingly wrong that sort of fucked-up behavior is in a person and every time I see it it makes me want to cringe! And you sing far too loudly in the shower for the type of singing voice you have, and every time I hear_ that_ it makes me want to cringe even harder, and I'm going to talk about your hair some more because it's really annoying that your hair looks as good on you as it does because it desperately needs a trim and possibly even a few dozen miracles to get it sorted out, and you're overly protective even when it's sometimes hot as fuck when you go all 'Chosen Hero' and 'Defender of the World' on people, and also you can't dance for shit and did I mention that your hair is a mess?!"

By the time Draco—finally—finished speaking, his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily, fists clenching as he dropped his gaze from Harry's surprised face down to his own lap, wondering if Harry would judge Draco if he were to possibly leap to his feet and run from the room in a blind panic. And then run from the castle. And then probably run from Scotland. And then most likely try his best to run all the way to the Continent, even though he wasn't sure if a spell existed that made it possible for a person to run on water.

And then in the next second he wondered why he wouldn't simply just _Apparate _to the Continent, instead of trying to run there across the channel like a sodding moron.

Huh.

"Right," Harry finally said, and Draco glared harder down at his lap as he heard what he suspected was amusement in the brunet's voice. "Well. That's quite a long list of all my imperfections, isn't it?"

"It's not _my_ fault the list is so long," Draco muttered, wanting to climb out of his own skin and run from that as well.

Harry chuckled. And then he chuckled again. And then he laughed. And then he _kept _laughing. And with every passing second, the chuckles grew louder, until they had blown into full-on heartfelt laughter, and Draco could feel the bed shaking with it.

"What the hell is so goddamned funny?" he demanded, finally looking up. Harry was clutching his sides and rocking with laughter, and a part of Draco couldn't help but wish the prat would fall off the bed already.

It was several moments before Harry could calm himself enough to respond. "Oh, Draco," he said fondly, a wide grin stretching his face. "Fuck, I really do love you."

"Oh," Draco mumbled, unsure how to respond. "Right. Well, why wouldn't you."

He had meant the statement to be rhetorical, but Potter answered anyway. "No good reason I can think of," he smiled. "Christ, even when the situation is this serious and you look a mess like you haven't slept in a week, you still make me laugh. And I love you for that. I love you for so many reasons, Draco."

"Do you?" Draco said weakly, hating the reminder of how awful he knew he looked but wanting Harry to continue speaking anyway.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, voice warm and face kind. "I really do."

"Well…" Draco hesitated, feeling himself blush but trying valiantly to ignore it, "I—I suppose that…you know…that I, um, _you know_…feel similarly, or whatnot." A mix of emotions twisted across Harry's face and Draco hurried to continue speaking. "I mean…fuck!" he blew out a harsh breath, wondering why it was so difficult to say the words that Harry seemed to have no problem uttering every five seconds. Why was Draco so deficient in expressing genuine emotion? "Fuck, Harry, fine! I fucking love you too, all right?" The words were nearly shouted, and Draco felt himself cringe away at the unexpected exclamation.

The room was silent. Neither of them said a word. The only sounds Draco could hear were the hammering of his heart and his own ragged breaths scraping up his dry throat. The longer the silence stretched the more panicked Draco could feel himself growing. Why wasn't Harry saying anything? Why wasn't he responding? Why hadn't he done anything obvious, like flee from the room or laugh in his face? Why hadn't he—

Warm arms were suddenly wrapped around him, and Draco blinked up at the ceiling, wondering how he had ended up on his back with Harry lying atop him. What was happening? Why was Harry hugging him? Was it a pity embrace, because he was obviously a pathetic and pitiable fool? Fuck, he knew he should have run to the Continent. Nobody over there knew what a pathetic and pitiable fool he was. Not until they looked at him and saw how obvious it was, at least.

"Do you really mean that?" Harry asked in a thick voice, the words muffled somewhat by Harry's current position of having his face squashed into Draco's neck in such a way. "The things you just said. Do you really mean them?"

"Of course," Draco responded automatically, wishing he had something to muffle his own words. It wasn't fair that Harry's words got to be muffled when his didn't. "Of course I meant everything I said. Your hair really is horrendous, Potter."

Draco felt more than heard Harry's laughter, rumbling in his chest and vibrating along every part of them that was touching.

"You are absolutely ridiculous, Draco Malfoy," he said, pressing a kiss to Draco's throat. "I love you so much."

At the statement, Draco felt his arms lift without being told to and hesitantly wrap themselves around Harry, who hugged him even tighter in response. "I love you too," he whispered, feeling only _mostly_ embarrassed by his words and the situation. He would say that he was only eighty-six percent embarrassed and forty-one percent happy and twenty-three percent ecstatic and fifty-four percent confused and only sixty-seven percent humiliated beyond the telling of it. And seventeen percent thirsty.

He frowned, wondering if there was a chance that his maths were maybe just a bit off.

Clearing his throat, he felt his cheeks flush _again_ and prayed to every higher power listening that he would one day be able to control his embarrassment. "I, erm, really am sorry, you know. For—for everything that happened and everything that I did."

Harry sighed. "It's okay, Draco. It's fine. I mean, it's not _fine _fine, because that really was a shit thing to do to someone, but…" he hesitated, and Draco tried his hardest not to show how much he needed Harry to finish whatever he had been about to say, "but…Blaise told me. That it was never fake for you. He said that it was always real. He said that you've always liked me, since the beginning."

"Blaise doesn't know anything," Draco said automatically, unable to fight his first instinct, in every situation, to proclaim that Blaise knew nothing. He couldn't help but proclaim the truth, after all.

Harry pulled back to give him a flat look. "So you're saying he was wrong then?"

"Um, well…" Draco stammered, wondering how he could discreetly climb out of the hole he had somehow dug himself in. "You see, Harry…"

"When did you start having feelings for me?" Harry wondered, combing a few wayward strands of hair from Draco's forehead. "I need to know."

Draco's first reaction was to deny having any such feelings, before remembering that he really did have those feelings and that he had professed them only moments earlier, and so denying them now would only serve to make him look a bit mental. "I dunno," he muttered, wondering if his face would ever stop being on fire. He honestly wasn't sure how much more embarrassment he could cope with before keeling over or combusting or fleeing the country or something else horrific that he did not want to do.

"I need to know, Draco," Harry said softly, continuing to play with Draco's hair.

Draco stared up at him helplessly. He had no idea how to answer the question—he didn't even know what the answer to the question was! "I don't know," he said, sounding pained. "I don't know, Harry. But…" he paused, hating the way Harry's face had fallen. "But…I mean…look," he huffed, "I don't know when I started to develop feelings for you. Pansy and Blaise both say that it was before I ever approached you and before Blaise even came up with the stupid plan, but I honestly don't know, Potter.

"But…I do know that a big part of me _wanted_ to approach you. And maybe that's why I went along with Blaise's plan in the first place. Was just so I could speak to you. Because what other excuse would I have had for approaching you and trying to start a conversation? And I know that I was excited for our first date, which I kept telling myself was only because of the stupid plan and how much I wanted it to work, but the truth is, Harry, that I never actually cared about the plan, and I never really wanted it to work. I know that I really liked knowing how you felt about me, even if I had convinced myself that it was because it made it easier to manipulate you. But I don't think that's true. That's never been the reason why I liked knowing you fancy me. And I certainly would never have been the one to first bring up the subject of kissing if I hadn't wanted to kiss you. And I definitely would never have been the one to initiate the kiss if I hadn't wanted to kiss you. Have you ever tried kissing someone you find repulsive? Because I haven't. Because it would be repulsive_._ And I don't do things that I am repulsed by. Do you understand what I'm saying?" The final question was asked a bit too desperately for Draco's liking and he clamped his mouth shut, praying that no more words would be able to escape.

"Yeah," Harry said softly, a small smile spreading slowly across his face, "I think I do. You've been in love with me the entire time."

Draco rolled his eyes, wondering how it was possible he could be blushing even darker than he was before. But he couldn't deny the statement. He didn't want to deny the statement. Maybe he really had been in love with Harry the entire time. He had no idea and even less idea of how to actually _get_ an idea of the answer. Draco had always wondered how Harry had been certain he was in love with the blond; how certain he was that what he felt was love. How did Draco know when his feelings for Harry had shifted into love? He had felt so many things for Harry in the past—jealousy, resentment, hatred, annoyance, admiration, envy, deep and utter loathing, arousal, confusion, empathy, happiness, sorrow, regret, longing…but did all those feelings equate to love? Was love a sort of amalgamation of various emotions? Did they all combine to form the abstract, unknowable thing called love? Were all those sorts of feelings necessary for an emotion to be classified as love? Or was love its own singular, separate emotion above all the others?

Draco had no fucking idea.

But did it really matter? Maybe he would never know how to define love with one hundred percent certainty, but was that really what mattered right then? Maybe all that mattered was letting Harry know how he felt before Harry walked away from him again. Maybe all the situation required was honesty.

Draco could do that. Draco could be honest.

Well, he was almost certain that he could be, anyway.

"I don't know if I have," he said quietly, watching as the smile faded from Harry's face. "I honestly don't know when my feelings for you shifted, Harry. I do know that I used to dislike you. And I know that I disliked feeling as though you were only following me around at the beginning of term out of a sense of suspicion or vengeance. But I know that I liked having your attention. And once we started talking, I know that I liked talking to you. I know that I liked spending time with you. I know that I liked being with you and I liked the way you made me feel about myself. I liked being the person you sought out. And," he dropped his gaze, speaking down to the mattress beneath him, "I know that I felt like utter shit when you found out about everything. And I know that I've missed you, even though you really are a prat with horrendous hair." He risked a glance up, noting that the smile was back on Harry's face. "I've missed you so much, Harry," he confessed in a whisper, watching as the smile on the other boy's face grew wider.

"That sounds like love to me, Draco," Harry said softly, combing his fingers through Draco's hair.

Draco still wasn't sure, but if it sounded like love to Harry, then that was good enough for Draco. "Then it must be love," he said, his heart pounding a furious rhythm in his chest. He was certain that Harry must be able to hear it and he silently pleaded with his own heart to just calm the fuck down already and be quiet. But of course, everything in Draco's life had to ignore his wishes, even his own goddamn organs. Why did even his own organs have to be so contrary?

Stupid organs.

All thoughts of stupid internal organs were forgotten, however, at the sound of the mattress creaking a moment before Harry leant forward and pressed his lips to Draco's in an unexpected kiss. The kiss was so unexpected, in fact, that it surprised Draco into forgetting how to actually kiss. He simply sat there, frozen in shock, doing nothing with his mouth like an utterly inexperienced moron, until Harry finally pulled away. He stared at Draco with a questioning look in his eyes.

"Are you sure you're real?" Draco breathed, lifting one hand to Harry's face to brush his fingertips over the warm skin along Harry's jaw. He certainly felt real. Draco was mostly almost entirely convinced that the other boy was real, but there was always a chance that his mind had cracked sometime in the last two weeks. There was also an equally great chance that his mind had cracked during the war and he was currently locked up in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's, drooling on himself and imagining the entire school year.

He frowned. He hoped to God that wasn't the case. But if it was, he hoped to God he never woke up to find himself covered in drool and unable to separate reality from fantasy. If it really was a fantasy, he would definitely prefer to remain lost in it.

Harry smiled softly down at him, turning his head to press several light kisses to Draco's hand. "Pretty sure, yeah," he answered, settling more comfortably atop the blond.

"Only pretty sure? How am I meant to be certain if you're not even certain?"

"Well," Harry said warmly, leaning all his weight on one elbow as he gazed down at Draco, "look at it this way. Even if none of this is real, it's got to be better than whatever the actual reality is. So why not just go along with it?"

"Gryffindor logic, I suppose," Draco snorted, reaching up to tug sharply on Harry's hair.

"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing at his scalp and pulling back to glare at the blond. "What was that for?"

"Just checking," Draco shrugged.

"What, that my hair is real?" Harry muttered, continuing to rub at his scalp, and Draco couldn't help but snicker.

"I suppose it would have to be, wouldn't it?" he said lightly, combing gentle fingers through the black strands. "My imagination would certainly never be twisted enough to dream up anything with hair as unmanageable as yours."

"You mean hair as unexplainably attractive as mine?" Harry asked with a grin.

Draco snorted. "No, I'm quite sure I know what I said, Potter. I chose the word 'unmanageable' for a reason."

"Yes," Harry said seriously, "an incorrect one."

Draco huffed but said nothing, smiling to himself as Harry laid down next to him, settling his head on the pillow beside Draco's. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, the two of them continually shifting between gazing at one another and turning away with pink cheeks in the very next second.

"I've missed you being here," Draco finally said softly, frowning to himself as he wondered whether he had actually intended to speak aloud.

Harry's gaze softened. "Have you?" he murmured, running the fingers of one hand up and down Draco's arm. "I've missed being here."

"God, Harry," Draco whispered, feeling his eyes burn. He was exhausted and drained and feeling far too emotional and desperate to allow Harry to see how much his presence was affecting him, even though Draco was quite sure Harry already knew.

"Draco," Harry murmured, and at the sound of his name spoken in such a kind, loving way, in a way that only Harry had ever seemed able to speak his name in, Draco had to turn away. His eyes were burning, and he was sure they were far too bright then was acceptable at the moment. He rolled onto his other side, wondering if Potter would judge him or deem it a weakness if Draco ran from the room as surreptitiously as he could, at least until his damned stupid emotions were once again under control as they always were.

Because, despite what everybody around him seemed to say, Draco was a very controlled person. His emotions were normally never out of his control. He was so controlled, in fact, that he was considering nominating himself for an Order of Merlin First Class for his control. If Harry got to have a million and one medals for things like brushing his teeth and tying his shoes and having green eyes and whatever else the hero of the world was thrown his daily slew of intrepid accolades at for, then Draco should get at least _one_ for having such outstanding emotional control, right?

Right.

Draco sniffed, trying to tell himself that the tears he could feel building in his eyes were simply due to the fact that he had not yet, and most likely never would receive an Order of Merlin First Class for emotional control. Not even a Third Class, damn Ministry. He deserved at least a Third Class, didn't he? Fourth Class? Sixth Class was as low as Draco was willing to go, and the damned class didn't even _exist_. He absolutely refused to accept a class in the double digits. That was far more shaming than honoring.

"Draco?" a soft voice said behind him, and Draco sniffed harder as he was forced back into the horribleness of the current moment, where he was trying his hardest not to sob all over himself like some snot-nosed first year. "Draco? Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," Draco answered in a thick voice, praying that Potter had somehow gone deaf and could not hear the stupid emotion clogging up his stupid throat. Why was everything being so sodding _stupid_? Between his stupid organs and his stupid emotions and his stupid burning eyes and stupid thick throat…Draco wished it really could have all been a hallucination. It would be far less embarrassing for him to have simply lost his mind. Mostly, of course, because he hardly thought he would actually _care_ what people thought of him losing his mind after he no longer had a mind with which to care about people's opinions.

Harry said nothing, simply holding him tighter, moving in closer, and Draco tried to wipe at his eyes as subtly as possible. But then Harry had to go and destroy any illusion of subtly Draco was trying to convince himself he had by grasping at Draco's hand and feeling the evidence of tears clinging to his wet fingertips.

"Draco," he whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "It's okay. I'm sorry."

And that, of course, only made Draco cry even harder, like a goddamn _moron_, sobbing and sniffling and trying desperately to keep everything held in. But it wasn't _fair_. It wasn't fair for Harry to show up out of nowhere and speak so kindly to Draco and forgive him for everything and then _still _apologize. God, why was Harry such a prat? Why wasn't he yelling at Draco? Why was he holding him so tightly and making him feel so safe? Why the hell was Draco crying when he was getting everything he had been dreaming about for the past fortnight? Why couldn't he just be happy about it? Why couldn't he be as cool and casual as he had always liked to think himself? Why was he such an overly emotional mess of confusion and mixed feelings? Why was Draco so fucking _pathetic_?

"You're not," a low voice said, and Draco managed to pause his mental dramatics just enough to half-turn his head in question. "Pathetic," Harry added.

The word made Draco narrow his eyes, and he opened his mouth to respond, something along the lines of demanding to know what the hell Harry was doing performing Legilimancy on him like that, the rude sod, but the brunet continued speaking before Draco had a chance, and a moment later, he was glad he had been cut off.

"You were speaking out loud," he explained, stroking Draco's arm.

The words made Draco's eyes widen in panic. "What, all of it?" That was nearly as bad as if Harry had been using Legilimancy on him!

Harry snorted. "I doubt it. I'm sure you have quite a lot rattling around in your head at the moment. But you did mumble a fair bit aloud, yes."

Huffing, Draco rolled onto his stomach, hiding his face in the mattress. If he couldn't stop his damned tears and he couldn't stop the damned thoughts from pouring free from his mouth, then all he could do was hide his face and pray one day the embarrassment would come to an end.

"Draco," Harry said above him, prodding him in the back with one finger. "Draco," he tried again upon receiving no answer.

But Draco could no longer ignore the other boy when a heavy weight settled atop him, driving the air from Draco's lungs in a sharp grunt. Harry was lying on him, stretched out along the entire length of him, and Draco felt a shiver race through him as Harry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and nosed sweetly into his hair.

"God," Harry chuckled, and Draco could feel the vibrations of his laughter along his whole body. "I've really missed you and your dramatics, Draco."

Draco's first instinct was to raise his head and cow Harry with a glare before informing him in a cold voice that Draco was _not _exhibiting dramatics, and even if he was, it was certainly nothing to find amusing.

But Harry was pressing kisses along the back of his neck and base of his skull and Draco decided that he really didn't want them to stop, and raising his head and glaring at the brunet and speaking in a cold voice was almost certainly guaranteed to do so.

"Don't cry, Draco," Harry said warmly, and at _those _words, Draco could not help but shake off Harry's kisses and twist his head around the best he could to glare, which, from the angle he was at, only really succeeded in earning himself a distant headache rather than intimidating Potter with the fierce expression. God, even the angles in his life were being stupid.

"I'm not," he sniffed, in a voice that he hoped was much sterner and much less wobbly than he feared it might have come across as. "You don't know what you're talking about, Potter."

"Probably," Harry agreed.

They were silent for several long minutes.

"Are you okay, Draco?" Harry finally asked, shifting his weight so he was lying half on the mattress and half on Draco, and Draco felt grounded beneath the warm, comforting weight. He had missed the feeling.

"Fantastic," Draco drawled, grateful when his voice came out more or less normal sounding. "Ten out of ten, Potter, why ever would you think anything differently?"

"No reason," Harry chuckled, tightening his hold, and Draco wanted to remain that way forever.

He hoped he would never have to move again.

* * *

Damn Blaise. Of course it was Blaise who was the one who eventually made Draco move. As soon as the knocking started on the door, polite at first but growing louder and louder the longer the two boys ignored it, Draco had known exactly who it would be.

Not that there were very many options, of course. Pansy and Blaise were the only other students in the entire castle other than Harry who ever sought admittance to the dorm they were in.

"What the fuck do you want?" Draco shouted, sounding nearly as irritated as he felt. Harry was still lying beside him, still wrapped around him, and Draco wanted to remain there forever and ignore the fact that they were not the only two people left in the world. He wanted to remain inside the little private bubble that the dorm room afforded them—when it wasn't being invaded by annoying warthogs, of course.

"Are you two shagging or can we come in?" Blaise called back, and Draco winced, wondering how many Slytherins had heard what he said. When the universe had handed out subtly, Blaise had obviously been absent that day.

"No to both," Draco responded, settling back into Harry's warmth.

The lock suddenly clicked, and the door swung open. "Sure, Draco," Blaise drawled, stepping into the room with Pansy on his heels, "like that's ever worked before."

"Not even shagging a little bit, hmm?" Pansy said, leaning around Blaise to peer at them closely. "Disappointing."

"What do you want?" Draco snapped. "Go worry about other people shagging, for fuck's sake."

Ignoring his tone, Blaise shrugged. "We wanted to see how you two lovebirds were getting on. Is everything sunshine and rainbows between you once more?"

"No, Blaise," Draco said as sarcastically as he could, "whatever would make you think that? This is obviously a hate hug that Harry is giving me. Trust me, the whole time he's been touching me, he's clearly been wishing death on me."

"Bet you haven't missed that sarcasm, Potter, have you?" Blaise retorted. "And this is the most civil he's been in days."

"So, what happened then?" Pansy wondered, drifting forward to flop onto the bed; Draco glared as the mattress bounced. "I want to hear all the dirty details. Are the two of you healed? Are the four of us also healed?"

"You can't kill the bonds of true friendship, Pans," Blaise responded, striding forward to peer down at them as well. "The four of us are destined to be friends, and there's no arguing with fate, I'm afraid."

The comment made Pansy snort. "So says you to Harry Potter. The man has been arguing with fate practically since birth."

Blaise tapped his chin in thought. "I wouldn't say arguing so much as flipping fate two fingers and telling it to go fuck itself. But that was only every other day or so, so no big deal, really."

A gentle hand settled on Draco's shin, and he glanced over to find Pansy giving him a concerned, questioning look. He nodded once, and she smiled in response, patting his leg before glancing at Harry with obvious hesitation. She looked away in the very next second, and Draco turned his head to find Potter frowning.

"Draco and I are okay," he said quietly, pressing another kiss to Draco's shoulder before sitting up.

"But don't worry, Pans, Potter doesn't hate the two of us _completely_ anymore," Blaise told her, and the frown on Harry's face deepened. "Only slightly now. It's still progress."

"I never said I hated you," Harry replied, sounding uncomfortable. "But it's not like you two were exactly innocent or anything."

"As if they even know the meaning of that word, Potter," Draco said, speaking to the far wall. He could feel a buzzing sort of discomfort spreading through the room, hanging in the air above their heads like a storm cloud, a heavy grey haze humming loudly with static discontent, threatening to break apart at any second with thunder and lightning and angry words.

"Would you rather us leave?" Pansy asked quietly, in a rare somber moment.

"We only came to check on you two," Blaise said, and Draco wondered if he was looking at them or speaking to the floor. "And bring you dinner."

Glancing over his shoulder curiously, Draco could see a large covered tray sitting on Blaise's bed, and he wondered how he had not noticed it when they had first entered the room.

"You brought us dinner?" Harry sounded surprised.

"Yeah," Blaise shrugged, and Draco noted that he was speaking to the far window. "Whatever way this ended up playing out between you, we didn't think you would want to go to the Great Hall. So we decided to just bring part of the Great Hall to you. Well," he paused, "part of the kitchen, at least."

"Thank you," Harry said, glancing between Pansy and Blaise. "And I don't—I don't hate you. Either of you." His voice was edged with discomfort, and if the situation were not so serious, Draco would have laughed at the way nobody was looking at anybody else.

"I mean," Harry continued, twisting his fingers in his lap, "I was angry. Really angry. Seriously, it's been a really long time since I've been that angry"—Pansy and Blaise only stared even harder in opposite directions—"but…"

Draco nudged him, trying to get him to finish his sentence. Now that he was no longer wallowing in misery, he was able to recognize and acknowledge the fact that both Pansy and Blaise had been upset about Harry's rejection as well. Draco hadn't been the only one to have been left behind with nothing but a piercing glare and a handful of hate-filled words.

Pansy and Blaise had also missed Harry.

"But you found that you can't actually live without us, despite your best efforts?" Pansy guessed, aiming for a light tone and failing.

"But you missed us desperately and found yourself often waking in the night after having dreamt of us and the laughter we once shared?" Blaise guessed, trying for his usual casual sarcasm and failing.

Harry snorted. "Sure," he said softly. "If that's what you would like to have happened, sure to all of it."

"Knew you couldn't cope without the three of us in your lives," Blaise said with a bright smile, but Draco noticed that he was still staring at the window.

"You make your real friends in Slytherin," Harry said lightly, and the other three turned to him in surprise, identical smiles slowly growing on their faces. All three Slytherins glanced at one another, smiles widening, before they looked to Harry to find him grinning.

"Yes, you do," Draco agreed, reaching over to twine his fingers with Harry's own. "You absolutely do."

* * *

A/N: Hooray! The dungeons are once again overflowing with happiness and smiles and everlasting friendships! The world has been righted, and we can now psycho-happy-dance our way toward the epilogue! (I'm now picturing a bunch of faceless grinning genderless human bodies doing the Carlton dance in front of their computer/phone screens. I won't lie, it's a pretty good mental image. It's also an equally terrifying mental image, and I'm really not sure what the existence of this image says about my brain…)


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: In which endings are inevitable, hesitant reconciliations are made, Weasley is finally given a spirit animal, and penises are mentioned for the very last time.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

"Is he ever going to stop glaring, do you think?" Pansy sighed, spearing a bit of sausage on her fork.

Blaise squinted in the direction of the Gryffindor table. "I dunno, Pans, I think that might be one of his more loving glares. This is most likely progress."

"Progress," she snorted, "sure."

"Oh come on," Blaise said cheerfully, "try and be more optimistic, darling. Maybe if we shatter enough of those cold-hearted, cynical Slytherin stereotypes, he might be a bit more receptive to us."

"Sure," Draco drawled, leaning his shoulder into Harry. "I'm certain that it'll happen any day now."

"Especially the shattering all Slytherin stereotypes thing," Harry cut in. "Because I hate to be the one to say this if you didn't already know, but you three are pretty much the Slytherin House traits embodied in the flesh."

"Ooh, say 'flesh' again," Draco grinned, earning a chuckle from Harry.

"Ron will get over it," he said, bumping Draco with his shoulder. "He really did like you lot. You know, before."

"Oh please," Pansy snorted. "It's fucking February already! It's been nearly two fucking months since all that shit happened! I'm sorry, Potter, but your friend needs to learn when to let things go. I mean, I could understand him holding onto his anger if _you_ were also still angry, but you're clearly not!"

"That's just his panda bear instincts," Blaise snickered. "He has no choice but to be cuddly and forgiving."

Harry stared at him. "Is that what pandas are known for? Their easy ability to forgive?"

"Of course," the other boy replied smoothly. "Whereas Weasley is a much more grudge-holding sort of animal. Like a…" his nose scrunched up in thought. "What animal holds a grudge?"

Pansy tapped her chin in thought. "A squirrel? I've met some properly angry squirrels in my time."

Harry laughed. "Sure, Parkinson, why don't you go tell him that? I'm sure that'll warm him right up to you."

"I would say a goose," Blaise mused, "because they are definitely some aggressive pricks, but geese are far more frightening than he is, to be honest."

"Agreed," Draco said immediately. He had had far too many run-ins with the peacocks at the Manor and did not doubt that geese would be just as terrifying. Bloody blasted dickish birds.

"That's decided then," Pansy shrugged. "Weasley can be an angry little ginger squirrel, hiding up in his tree and refusing to come out and play with the much more interesting animals."

"And what would Hermione be?" Harry sounded amused.

"Now that is a good question," Pansy said, forehead scrunching as she thought. "A dolphin, perhaps? Aren't dolphins meant to be intelligent?"

"Yes, and they do seem like they would be a bit flashy with their intelligence," Blaise said, and Draco sniggered, earning an eye roll from Harry.

"Come on, Potter," Draco said lightly, "even you can't deny that she's more than a bit flashy with her knowledge. Some might, and many already have, even correctly labelled her as a know-it-all."

"Can't argue with that," Pansy said, taking another bite of sausage. "But, despite her flashiness, our bosoms really are friends."

Draco snorted. "I will give you five Galleons right now if you go over there and tell her that you've missed her dolphin bosom."

"No need," Pansy said lazily, gesturing in the general direction of the Gryffindor table. "They're about to pass by here in a second."

Glancing over, Draco saw that she was right. The sight of the two Gryffindors made a familiar distant pang of guilt twist through Draco, although it was gone in the very next second. Yes, he knew that things between him and Harry's friends were still a bit strained, but Draco privately thought it was a bit ridiculous for them to hold onto something that Harry had long moved past.

Although, Draco allowed, he supposed that the two Gryffindors had never been lucky enough to be exposed to his particular brand of persuasion. Draco had spent the past two months 'persuading' Harry to forgive him, even long after he had been granted full forgiveness.

But Weasley and Granger had never had the delights of such experiences.

Oh well. Draco considered them as unlucky for never experiencing such a thing as he was fortunate for also never experiencing such a thing. And in that, there was balance, and at least Draco could make peace with that. The world depended on balance.

"Granger! Weasley!" Pansy greeted, ignoring the eyes Draco narrowed at her. Beside him, Harry darted glances between the pair of Gryffindors and the three Slytherins, saying nothing.

"Hello," Granger greeted cautiously, far too polite to be able to snub such a cheerful and genuine greeting. Next to her, her ginger pratish boyfriend glared at them all suspiciously.

"Christ, Weasley," Blaise said with an eye roll, "lighten up already, for fuck's sake." And with that, he threw a bit of toast at the redhead.

"How are you, Granger?" Pansy said solicitously, and the suspicion on Weasley's face deepened. "You're looking particularly lovely today."

Granger stared, blinking slowly, clearly uncertain how to respond. "Erm, fine," she finally said. "I'm doing fine, thank you."

"Oh good," Pansy smiled. "We were just talking about the two of you. Mostly about our bosoms, Granger. I was telling them how much my bosom missed yours and I was hoping that yours wasn't suffering too terribly from their separation. Our bosomy friendship can't vanish so easily, darling."

Weasley snorted loudly, trying to disguise it as a cough in the next second.

"You two can sit down," Harry said, gesturing to the empty seats next to him, and it hurt Draco to hear the hope in the brunet's voice. "We're almost done eating, and then Blaise and I were talking about all going down to the lake or something since it's Saturday."

"But it's freezing out there," Weasley said, blinking stupidly.

"Are you a wizard or not, Weasley?" Blaise drawled. "We'll be going out there fully armed with magic and warming spells, not to mention good old-fashioned cloaks."

"Oh," Weasley nodded, as though he had completely forgotten all of those things existed, "right."

"You two should come with us," Draco said, only slightly reluctantly, until he glanced over to find Harry smiling that tiny soft smile at him that Draco secretly loved. It was such a sincere smile, far more sincere than Harry's 'public-face' smiles, the ones that stretched too wide and showed too many teeth. The private smiles he seemed to save for Draco took Draco's breath away every time.

"Yeah, come with us!" Harry said, his words a strange mix of excitement and pleading. "It'll be fun!"

Weasley hesitated, clearly not wanting to turn Potter down at the same time he clearly wanted to turn Draco down.

"Yes, Weasley," Blaise grinned, "do come. You can show me all those new intimidation techniques I advised you to work on. I hope you've been taking adequate notes from Granger."

Weasley huffed, glaring at Blaise.

"Don't make me throw more toast at you," Blaise said, grin widening. "Say yes or else, Weasley, this is your last chance before battle."

"Yeah," Weasley rolled his eyes, "like I'm scared of you and your _toast_, Zabini."

Draco and Pansy both snickered. "Was that meant to sound like an innuendo, Weasley?" Draco wondered.

"No," Weasley said, rolling his eyes even harder. "It's not my fault if you hear the word 'penis' in every single sentence that comes out of a person's mouth. Just stop thinking about them so much and you won't have that problem."

"I would if I could but I'm afraid I can't," Draco said with faux regret. "You see, Harry is just so insistent on reminding me that penises exist and that he is the proud owner of one. And you would not _believe _some of the things he's willing to do to remind me. I mean, seriously. And who am I to argue when Harry's penis wants attention?"

"Five points to the hedgehog," Blaise chuckled.

"I've decided I'm going to be sick all over your table," Weasley declared, holding up one hand in a promise.

"As long as it's on Blaise's side of the table, I don't care," Draco drawled lazily.

"Give you a Galleon, Weasley," Blaise smirked, "to aim for Draco's head."

"Done," Weasley agreed instantly, and Harry responded with an eye roll.

"I prefer Draco's head without any sick on it, actually," he said evenly.

Weasley shrugged. "So pay me two Galleons and I won't sick up on it then."

Draco raised one eyebrow. "And you think I'm going to just sit here and take it?"

"Is that not how you react to most situations in life?" Weasley said, voice heavy with sarcasm, and Draco glared.

"That's why he's our little hedgehog," Blaise beamed, and Draco turned his glare onto him, swinging it between both boys as he wondered who he wanted to glare at more. They were both equally deserving targets of his wrath.

"You're almost as scary as Weasley," Blaise snickered, waving Draco's ire away with a casual hand.

"Oi, I'm scary!" Weasley protested, frowning as he was met with laughter.

"Isn't he precious, Granger?" Pansy smirked, only Draco noticed that her usual smirk was somehow…softer. Almost like a smile.

Huh. Draco would have to remember that moment and use it later to mock Pansy to her face. Smiling at Gryffindors, honestly.

With an unconscious turn of his head, Draco glanced over to watch Harry out of the corner of his eye, laughing with the others and smiling in a way that Draco couldn't help but smile at.

Huh. Maybe Draco might just rethink mocking Pansy for smiling at ridiculous Gryffindors. It might not actually be the worst thing a person could do, Draco decided. Not that he would ever admit such a thing aloud, of course.

"Well, come on then." Harry's happy voice cut through the mental tracks of Draco's current train of thought his mind was speeding along, and his eyes widened as he wondered if he had been caught staring at Harry and smiling like some lovesick moron.

Damn it.

"Come on what?" Draco said cautiously, wondering what he had missed whilst acting like an utter knob.

Pansy snickered. "I'm giving everybody else five points, Draco, just for your inability to follow a simple conversation."

Draco shot her the most dignified rude hand gesture he could. "I can't help if my natural instinct is to tune out your voice the moment I hear it. If anything, my inability to follow the conversation is _your_ fault, Pans."

"We're going down to the lake," Harry answered, still smiling.

Draco raised one eyebrow. "You mean the outside lake? That is outside? In the horrible freezing cold?"

"That's the one," Harry nodded cheerfully. "Come be cold with us, Draco."

In response, Draco sighed loudly, hoping that every ounce of his impending suffering was being expressed properly through his weary sigh.

"Stop acting as if you don't have magic, you git," Harry grinned. "You don't have to be cold unless you want to be."

Draco sighed again, mostly at his inability to argue with such logic. "Fine, Potter. If you want me to become a frozen block of ice, who am I to argue? Although, I'm warning you now that you'll be the one to regret this decision most when I freeze off certain parts of myself that I know for a fact you like being there."

Harry chuckled and pulled Draco in close enough to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. "Sure, Draco. If that happens, I will accept responsibility for everything."

"_When_ that happens," Draco corrected, "then yes, you will."

Still chuckling, Harry rose to his feet and smiled at the two Gryffindors as he waited for the others to stand as well. As Draco stood and stepped back from the table, Harry turned his smile on the blond, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat as every thought about the horrible Scottish winter awaiting them outside was forgotten. Who could worry about a little thing like the weather when Harry was smiling at them in such a way, warming them with his expression alone? Draco didn't even need magic or cloaks when he had Harry's smile to keep him warm.

Although magic and cloaks were still nice, he decided, as they stepped through the front doors into the crisp February air. A warming charm settled over him and he turned in surprise to Harry, who was tucking his wand away with that same soft smile lighting up his face, and Draco couldn't help but return the expression. Christ, he loved Harry.

"Come on then," Harry grinned, reaching down to slip his hand into Draco's own before tugging him down the steps leading up to the castle. "Let's go."

The others agreed and set off, allowing Draco and Harry to bring up the rear. Draco glanced down at the warm fingers entwined with his own, looking back up to Harry's face only to find the man already staring at him.

"Come on," he repeated, smiling Draco's favorite smile at the blond.

And Draco knew.

In that moment, he knew.

He would follow Harry anywhere; he would do anything for Harry. He loved Harry more than anything and he always would. Even if being in a relationship with the brunet would come with unpleasant necessities such as spending time with Granger and Weasley, Draco would bear it in silence because, despite their rocky past and questionable start, Harry would always be his. He would always love Harry, that was simply fact at this point. Draco knew down in his very core, beyond any shadow of a doubt—they belonged purely to one another and always would; they were never meant to be apart.

Rarely had anything in Draco's life ever seemed so simple.

**THE END**

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A/N: And that is the end! I would like to give giant virtual bear hugs to everyone who made it to the end of this lil' story of true love and immature teenage banter. It ended up being about twice as long as I initially predicted, but it was definitely the most fun I've ever had writing a story. I've been toying with the idea of doing a tiny lil' Valentine's ficlet for these two precious boys, so there's a chance that that'll be coming atcha in the future sometime!

But anyway, thanks again, lovers! Lemme know what you thought! Hugs and kisses and mugs of hot chocolate to all you beautiful souls reading this 😊


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